


Wheyla

by FriendlyCybird



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: A whole new world, Fic will be slow to update, Gen, OC's everywhere - Freeform, Put them together and what do you get?, So is being mean to AH, Worldbuilding is Fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2018-09-25 04:29:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9802685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: None of them had ever heard a sound like that before. But then, none of them had ever been ripped out of their dimension before either.





	1. The Castle

**Author's Note:**

> Those of you who know me have known this story under various names. Original RPF, the Midevil Thing, The weird D&D Thing, the 30 Chapter Monstrosity with Sequels, and finally it's ultimate name, for the world I invented for it, Wheyla.   
> This story got it's start during NaNoWriMo of 2015, when my writing partner and I were talking about AH and I said "wouldn't it be interesting if..." I'd never written RT/AH fanfic before, or any real person fanfic. 
> 
> I'm finally posting Chapter 1, because we all deserve to have this out in the open at last. That said, I think for the bulk of this year we'll be looking at a one chapter a month update schedule. Writing this story is slow going. A bunch of thanks to everyone who's been super supportive about it.

When Ryan first heard the sound, he thought it was coming through his headphones. He ripped them out with a pained gasp just in time to hear Michael yelling unintelligibly at Gavin. The noise didn’t stop. Ryan looked up to see what was going on and saw Gavin on the floor, covering his ears and cowering. Something was very wrong. 

Jack and Jeremy were both out of the office, Jeremy kidnapped by Animation for voice work and Jack was running late coming back from a meeting. It was just the four of them in the room, so it was unlikely to be a prank. He hadn’t done anything, Michael was moving to stand protectively over Gavin while still yelling and cursing in what sounded less like a show and more like genuine panic. And Geoff…

It was Geoff’s silence that had Ryan on his feet before things actually got fucked up. He still froze when Gavin screamed for Michael though. As if it weren’t enough that Ryan had never heard Gavin sound like that before and it twisted every bit of empathy he had against him, making him feel suddenly ill. It also unbalanced his sense of reality. Michael had just been there. Ryan had seen him. He’d been checking on Gavin, standing over him like he could bodily shield him from the painful noise and now...it was like he’d done just that. If Ryan were relying on just his senses in the moment, he would deny Michael had even just been in the room.

Gavin screamed Michael’s name again, and Geoff started toward him. Alarm bells went off in Ryan’s mind instantly. Gavin had gone down first, and Michael had tried to protect him. Now Michael was gone. Geoff was moving toward Gavin… 

Ryan didn’t even process his thoughts as words before he stepped into Geoff’s path. His heart was pounding and it was a miracle he managed the firm, calm sounding “Geoff, go.” Geoff made a sharp, high pitched noise of disbelief followed by several unintelligible syllables that contained both his and Gavin’s names and several attempts at multiple curse words. “Please.” Ryan said, unable to articulate further. Then Gavin’s voice cut off mid word. 

Ryan didn’t even have to turn around to know he’d vanished without a trace just like Michael. It was fucking impossible but it was the new reality he had to adapt to. That he had to protect himself and Geoff from. With the screaming gone, suddenly the horrific, cutting noise that had started everything was so much louder and Geoff just breathlessly demanded “What the fuck, Ryan?” 

“I didn’t…” he began, then he steeled himself and caught his boss by the shoulder, turning him and pushing him hard toward the door. “We don’t have time for this!” Ryan didn’t know what was happening, but that much was sure. All he knew was they were in emergency mode. Except the push read as a shove and Ryan hadn’t ever seen Geoff move like that, turning back to face him and closing distance with a hard shove of his own. 

Ryan was already stepping back to minimize the force of the shove. He didn’t even think about what was happening behind him, it was a literal impossibility how could he possibly think about it? So Geoff’s hand was the last real thing he felt for several seconds before all of existence seemed to just be swept away in a bright white flash. He could still see Geoff, fractured, parts of the office his back had been to in perfect clarity with parts of vision he shouldn’t have. Then the outside of the office in some spaces as fragments winked into and out of plausibility. Ryan closed his eyes, stomach twisting. Generally, he liked a much more structured relationship with reality then this. Between the simple horror of that ear-splitting sound, two people and presumably himself vanishing, and the personal horror of the way Geoff had looked at him just then… some distant part of Ryan’s mind that managed to remain analytical asked if this was the first time he could properly use the word ‘Horrified’ to describe his condition without it being overstatement. 

The sinking realization struck him how what he’d done must’ve looked. No wonder Geoff pushed him, he’d gotten between Geoff and Gavin while Gavin was in danger. Geoff and Gavin were genuinely like family. Ryan scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair squeezing his eyes shut and hoping desperately that Geoff would be more forgiving of a move like that then Ryan suspected he himself would be. The best case scenario was that this wasn’t a real emergency, and over time it would become the kind of grudge that grew into a joke. Just like the million and one horrible things he’d done to all of them in games that were justified because he was a rational, and therefore frequently awful, person. 

Ryan finally opened his eyes again to find himself in a bedroom. A luxurious one, bordering on creepy. Four-poster canopy bed with thick, dark drapes. The walls were a dark polish wood, the floor half covered by an expensive looking embroidered midnight blue rug that matched the drapes on the bed and windows. The furniture, including the bed, a wardrobe, and a desk were similar dark colored wood, slightly darker even, than the walls. The doorway was rounded, the lighter brown door was heavy, and located opposite the foot of the bed. The single shaft of light from through the window made the whole room seem dramatic, full of shadows and beautiful in a way that Ryan might actually enjoy if he’d been presented with it in any other context. 

Ryan approached the rooms single lightsource first, a simple circle cut through layers of wood paneling and stone. Outside he could see a fairly expansive garden, neat rows stretching all along a stone wall down to and around a distant corner. Beyond that, an elegant metal fence separated the garden from what could only be a training arena. Dozens of men in full platemail standing in rows as neat as the garden plants moving in perfect unison of carefully practiced strikes and blocks. 

“...the hell?” he whispered. Ryan stepped away from the window and turned to cross toward the desk. It seemed intricately designed and held about half a dozen books or so shelved against its far back. The small window didn’t provide nearly enough light to read by in this dark room, so Ryan just pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the candle the desk provided. The glow was enough that he could make out the titles of the books. 

A brief history of Wheyla. 

Ruling by the will of the gods. 

Household Spellwork. 

Combat magic. 

An Atlas of the Continent. 

Ryan stopped reading the book titles and instead picked up the candle to walk to the door. Even though it appeared to be daylight Ryan didn’t know what the lighting levels in the hall would be. The door, it turned out, was locked. He wiggled the heavy wood for a moment before spotting the bolt near the top of the door and pulling it. Under the noise from playing with a lock, Ryan thought he heard footsteps outside the door. 

So once he pulled the door open, the presence of two fully armed guards wasn’t as surprising as it should have been. The surprise was the shock on their faces as they trained their weapons on the door. Ryan lifted his hands, carefully showing that one hand was holding a table candle and the other was completely empty. 

“Hi!” he greeted, feeling instantly stupid as their already shocked expressions grew startled, but neither guard lowered their sword. Deflating slightly, Ryan spoke a bit more carefully. “...I mean no harm, I’m as confused as you are. There’s no need for sharp things.” He was dangerously close to the line of just talking to talk so he shut up. To his surprise it worked and both guards lowered their swords, but kept them at the ready. Neither spoke, and tension settled over the situation. 

It was broken by the approach of another man, flanked by another pair of armed guards. This man wasn’t in armor, instead wearing a long sleeved ankle-length robe made of silver cloth. He had thin, white hair and the robe seemed to almost hide a body that was just as thin and white. About a days worth of grey stubble was on the old man’s cheeks and he stopped suddenly as he reached the doorway. 

His eyes were very blue. 

A beat after locking eyes with the old man, the old man dropped. Ryan started to step forward to catch him until he realized it was a controlled fall, just to one knee. The old man looked down and spoke breathlessly. “Your Majesty. You’ve returned.” 

Well this was obviously a dream. Ryan had always imagined a dream of being returned royalty would provide more information. Except the candle had weight in his hand. The moment still felt awkward, he was unprepared. Concluding that if this were a dream, he had complete control over it, Ryan started with a small test. He focused his will on the candle for a beat, then let go of it. He tried to convince his expectations that it would just stay there, hovering mid-air where he’d left it. 

Impossibly, it did. For barley a second before crashing suddenly to the floor. Luckily the drop put out the small flame. Ryan took a mostly involuntarily step back, staring. He wasn’t sure if that meant it wasn’t a dream...it had seemed to...maybe he was imagining that. Regardless, he didn’t have full control over everything. Whether this meant the situation wasn’t a dream, or just that Ryan was particularly bad at lucid dreaming he didn’t know. 

Either way, he was not prepared for this situation. So he did the only thing he could think to do. Ryan slammed the door in their faces. The heavy wood pushed the candle out of the room and Ryan quietly cursed that bad decision. Then he made his way to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to think through what had happened. What was happening. 

There were soft voices outside the door for several moments. Then silence, followed by a hard knock on the door. “Your majesty I apologize for invading your privacy.” the old man called through the door. “...but we have much to discuss.” Ryan didn’t answer, and made no move to open the door. He hoped that if he ignored him long enough the old man would just go away and leave Ryan to explore in peace. 

Instead, the door was pushed open a beat later, and the old man walked in, unaccompanied. He replaced the candle on the desk and turned to stare at Ryan. “...you’ve changed so much…” he said after a breath. Ryan sucked in a breath through his teeth, bracing to explain that there had to be a case of mistaken identity. “...yet so little…” the old man added. Ryan deflated again in the face of his awe. How do you tell a little old man in a shiny nightgown who looked like he might cry that he was wrong about who you are when some egotistical part of you isn’t even sure that he is? “I’m sorry.” the man said finally “I shouldn’t expect you to remember me. My name is Ivan, and I am the only man left in the capitol who remembers your last reign. I was only a boy though. I’d been brought from the west, near the border, to study with the palace healers. Today I’m the head sorcerer in the capitol. We only met once…” the steady, careful voice became momentarily wistful “...but I could never forget your eyes.” 

“Look…” Ryan interjected, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. “...a lot of people’s eyes are this color…” 

Ivan smirked and turned his head so his own pale blue eyes caught the stream of light from the window. “Myself included.” he interrupted. “So clearly, your majesty, I do not simply mean color.” Ryan went silent. Ivan continued “...kindness...darkness...mischief…it’s rare to see such a delicate balance in one man.” 

Ryan made a slight disagreeing sound. He’d met dozens if not hundreds of people who balanced those traits and more as well if not better then him. ...the majority of his co-workers for starters. Not to mention he wasn’t sure how that could all be seen by looking in his eyes. “I’m...not so sure about that…” he started. 

“Of course not.” Ivan interrupted. “You were always too humble for your own good. But tell me this. If you are not the prophesied return of our king, how did you come to be in his chambers, which have been locked from the inside for more than half a century?” 

Ryan didn’t have an answer for that. 

“I thought as much.” Ivan continued, smugly. “Now...I take it from your doubt you remember nothing of your rule?” 

“...that’s correct.” Ryan relented, deflating in his seat. “How is that possible?”

“Presumably? Reincarnation.” Ivan answered honestly. “While the Kings passing was largely concealed it has been long assumed.”

“Hold on” Ryan interjected. “If I'm the reincarnation of your king....who’s been ruling my whole life?” 

“A council of Lords.” Ivan answered. “One from each of your territories.”

“They’re not going to be happy about this, are they?” 

“Why would they ever not welcome...” Ivan started, a bit too grandly. Then he sighed. “Unfortunately, you are clever as always, your majesty. Too clever, even. They'll be most disappointed with their inability to simply use you as a pawn. It may cause some unrest.”

“So...wouldn’t it be better if I just...didn’t return? Keep all of this quiet and just...pretend it never happened?” Ryan tried. He was still skeptical enough that rocking the boat over minimal evidence seemed pretty stupid. 

Ivan smiled sadly, and missed the point entirely. “While that may be safest for you, unfortunately there has been tensions between the territories. Your return may be just what is needed to stop a brewing civil war.”

“Or cause one” Ryan mumbled, mostly to himself. “Look, I'm. I am honestly flattered by all of this but… I'm not even convinced of all this. How do we convince a group of Lords that have everything to gain from the King...never returning?”

The old sorcerer seemed amused. “Please, your majesty. Who do you take yourself for? Your crown has long been spelled to rest on no head but your own.” 

Ryan startled “...and what does it do to...people who aren’t...me?” He asked, hesitantly. 

“To them? To...oh. Oh no. No one places the crown. It goes to the rightful king. The moment you take the throne, the crown will find your head.” Ryan stared at Ivan in open disbelief. “...you think this is the first time you’ve been reincarnated, your majesty? Although, it is the first time you’ve passed without leaving an heir to give us a ruling line in your absence.” 

Ryan took a moment to try to let the information settle. He breathed out a long sigh and fidgeted with his hands and knees. He was slowly reaching the conclusion that this was all just a dream. What else could explain all of this? It was a little wild, and detailed, for a dream though. “You know...ten minutes ago I was in a country that doesn’t even have a king? This is a lot to take in.” 

Ivan stood at that. “I’m sorry, your majesty. Here.” He pulled three of the books from the back of the desk and laid them flat beside each other. Then flipped through each. Little flares of light surprised Ryan and he stood and moved behind Ivan to see what was happening. As the sorcerer flipped through the books every so often he would lightly tap a page and a white glow would ripple out from his fingertips for a moment then fade. Casual magic. A convincingly subtle display. Ivan finished up and turned to him. “I’ll leave you to your studies. I’ve marked these books so they’ll naturally open to the most relevant passages.” He smiled gently and put a hand on Ryan’s elbow. Ryan tensed, and Ivan squeezed in an attempt at being reassuring. It was a more familiar gesture then he’d have expected. Then he realized that the way Ivan looked at him wasn’t unlike how some fans did. Total admiration only understated by force of will. It was less than comfortable, and more than ever Ryan felt completely undeserving. It wasn’t even really him Ivan had known… “Take your time. It’s a lot to take in. Just know...you are our king and I and everyone in the castle will stand by that. And you.” another squeeze, then Ivan let go and slipped between him and the desk away toward the door. “There’s a guard posted, for your safety. Inform them if you wish to speak further and one of them will fetch me.” 

Ivan knocked at the heavy door rather than opening it himself. While Ryan understood that it was probably because he was an old man and too frail to handle such a heavy door, the way an armed guard opened the door from the outside to let Ivan out, then shut it again without a word did nothing to help with the sinking feeling that he was trapped. Another deep breath later and Ryan actually walked over to lay down on the bed, hoping his mind would catch up to the events so far. 

First of all… how much of this actually made sense? The answer was none. It was all absolutely ridiculous. Suddenly transported by, apparently magic? Which just didn’t exist. Into, what, another world? Parallel universe? Ryan realized suddenly that he had huge gaps in his understanding of where exactly he was. He could probably remedy that with the books Ivan had picked out for him. Then the paranoid question of whether or not he could trust books that appear in a scenario this ridiculous to not be equally ridiculous. 

The truth was, piece by piece, a lot of this could be fake. An elaborate practical joke. Some fans or someone at work or both. There was probably a hidden camera somewhere in the room. Except for a couple things. The easy way Ivan had used magic, off the top of his head Ryan couldn’t think of a way to have faked that light effect with the touch of the fingers. Not one that wouldn’t leave evidence at least. He hadn’t checked for evidence yet though, and wasn’t sure he would. It had felt like magic. Ryan’s instincts were directly contradicting his rationality and it made him want to scream. He didn’t. 

Instead he just pulled the quilted blanket tight around his shoulders and pushed his head into the pillows, pulling in on himself as he replayed everything that had happened. Forget Ivan’s little lightshow, how could someone have faked that fractured view with impossible angles? There were ways, of course, but nothing so seamless, and the expense for anything close would be prohibitive. Not to mention the worst part. 

Michael and Gavin had just vanished. It was impossible but it had happened, and he could only hope that meant they were somewhere here. In this...Kingdom? World? The vague thought that he could leverage whatever power he had as the supposed returned king to help find them was more than outweighed by the risks of impersonating royalty. What would they do when the crown didn’t come to him? He supposed he could ask...there were too many variables. Despite Ivan’s kindness Ryan couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something of a minefield. Which of course cycled back to nearly a much concern for Michael and Gavin as for himself. If he was struggling he couldn’t imagine how they were doing. Then again, bullshitting was a special talent of Michaels, so if their situations even remotely paralleled his, they were probably fine. 

Once he’d spent what felt like hours arguing out everything he knew in his head, Ryan got up and sat down at the desk. It was hard to focus on the words by candlelight. Eventually he found that Ivan had apparently marked a passage on the rites of kingship. Supposedly, the same man and his chosen successors had ruled for over a thousand years. The crown had been enchanted to recognize this mans presence on the throne. Ryan read a few pages past where the book had opened easily to initially and had found an account of an early conqueror-king who had apparently driven monsters out of a whole list of small nations and city-states and had demanded kingship in exchange, going so far as to completely wipe out populations that refused long enough. It sat a little strangely in Ryan’s gut, perhaps the worst that despite the book treating it as the tactics of a brutal conqueror, he saw kindness in the number of chances given each time. Not genuine kindness of course, but the sort of kindness one might temper a hard sort of ambition with. Small mercies that let murderers call themselves good men. 

He flipped to the next magically marked page in the first book and found an entire chapter titled simply “The Provinces of Wheyla.” Apparently there were seven of them. The Capitol, both the city and its surrounding lands, were considered a province to itself. Meer, in the north, was the source of most of the metalwork in the kingdom, Niphodia in the east provided most of the luxury and beyond it Natton was some sort of religious center. Kelwhisper in the west, Coleco in the south, and Linnea in the northeast all...did something but Ryan found his eyes starting to strain from reading in the candlelight. Closing the first book Ryan waited a while before resuming. This time moving on to the second book. In all honesty he wasn’t too keen on the idea of being left alone with his thoughts right now. Too much had happened and he was being overloaded with information. 

The second book was a spellbook, and Ivan had marked it to a household spell for lighting a room. He read it over more than once, curiousity growing. Ivan hadn’t mentioned whether the king could do magic or not. Although leaving him books and marking a page to light the room seemed to correlate. One thing for sure, if he tried and it worked that’d be pretty definitive proof it was all real. If he couldn’t, well, he was back to square one. Reading the discription Ryan wasn’t sure what or where the light source would be. As he started to feel uneasy about possible effects instead he took a moment to gather himself. 

Three things happened at once as he finished reading the incantation aloud. The first was a sudden brightness that flooded the room. It was like someone had flipped on a lightswitch, and Ryan could now see the deep reds in the wood of the furniture and the texture of the walls. The second was an instant sensation of exhaustion that washed over him. It felt like overexertion settled on him in the space of a second. The third was he noticed the recommendation at the bottom of the page to use a focus tool, like a crystal or a wand for the spell. So apparently, that had been really stupid. 

Ryan was pretty sure the book hit the floor when he stood up and pushed himself forward to fall on the bed. He managed to roll over just enough that his feet weren’t dangling off before he dropped off to sleep in a weird diagonal position across the bed. In the moment just before consciousness faded he noticed the room go dark again. Like a fridge light. The unbidden parallel was the last waking thought he had before passing out completely. 

He didn’t quite remember his dreams when he woke, not entirely. Little details stuck. The weight of a crown on his head and a thick cloak on his back. A sword in his hand. It was nothing that couldn’t have been drawn from his career as an entertainer. No doubt he was just trying to process everything that had happened in the last...hour...before he’d gone to sleep. It was darker now than it had been earlier, and Ryan glanced toward the window to confirm the sun had gone down. He heard movement on the opposite side of the bed. 

Ryan sat up suddenly. The boy crouching by the fireplace beside the desk jumped to his feet, equally if not more startled. Honestly he couldn’t have been more than fifteen, with messy hair and awkward limbs. “What…” he started. 

The boy dropped to one knee and interrupted “I’m sorry your majesty! I was just lighting a fire to warm your room for the night.” he sounded terrified, and for an instant Ryan had to wonder what sort of man their King had been to inspire so much fear with barely any interaction. What sort of man, apparently he, had been? 

He pushed the thought away and shook his head. “It’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting anyone.” the boy seemed to tremble a moment and shifted slightly and Ryan turned to sit on the edge of the bed. “It’s alright.” he repeated “Really. I’m sorry for startling you.” The boy shifted nervously and Ryan sighed. “And for interrupting. I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.” 

“Thank you, your majesty.” the boy got back to his feet and went back to the fireplace. 

“Thank you.” Ryan answered. He watched for a moment as the boy set about lighting a fire and started to ask “What time…” then realized how useless knowing what time it was now without knowing what time he got here. Besides, he could estimate the time from the light levels. The boy glanced to him and Ryan felt strangely compelled to ask...something. “...So it’s been a pretty exciting day around here, I take it?” 

“Oh yes.” he agreed eagerly “Everyone is excited about your return.” He paused a beat, then added “your Majesty” in a rush, a panicked afterthought. 

Ryan shook his head. “You don’t...need to call me that every single sentence. You don’t really need to call me that at all.” He paused, then added “I’m not even sure what I should call you.” 

“My name’s Kyle, your…” he cut off suddenly and offered a tiny “um…” before repeating “I’m Kyle.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Kyle.” Ryan answered, smiling. A moment later a fire roared to life in the fireplace and Kyle stood and backed away, gathering his tools to take away with him. “Thank you.” Ryan repeated. 

“Of course.” Kyle responded, turning and bowing at the waist to him. Ryan wasn’t sure if he could get use to that or not. “Would you like dinner to be brought to you or to eat downstairs?” 

That was an easy enough answer. “I’ll eat downstairs.” because if he ate here it would start to feel like he was trapped. Ryan needed to explore a little bit. “Actually, if you have time, would you mind showing me around?” 

Kyle hesitated a moment. Then nodded “I’d be happy to, your Majesty.”

“You don't have to.” Ryan clarified quickly. 

The smile that broke across Kyle's face was genuine, and full of affection. “I’d love to. Really.” and Ryan couldn't help but grin back. The boy jumped forward and pushed open the heavy door with noticeable strain. Then he held it and called “Ready when you are, your majesty.” So so Ryan stood up and followed him.

Walking past armed guards in full plate mail, portraits of what he could only assume was past royalty, walking on soft carpet through what seemed to be simple luxury, Ryan gradually began feeling underdressed. Jeans and a t-shirt weren't the best outfit for a castle tour. Not too long after that Ryan concluded that being shown around wasn't all that useful. He was pretty sure between the random turns the halls took and the winding staircases that he wouldn’t be able to find his way back without guidance. 

He couldn't help but notice the castle was spotless. The whole place was cleaner then he’d expected given their king had been away for half a century. Worn armor displays were polished to shine despite their obvious use, a theme that echoed across almost every detail of the castle. 

Kyle did his best to explain which wings and rooms were used for what but it was far too much to take in all at once. Finally, he was dropped off in the dining hall. A long table of the same wood as his bed sat in the center of the richly decorated room. Kyle pulled the chair at the head of the table for him and Ryan sat. 

“Dinner will be served shortly. I'll tell Ivan you're here. He was hoping to introduce you to the castle council.” And with that the young man rushed off. Ryan was yet again alone with his thoughts for a moment. 

Whatever had had happened that morning at work, it has thrown Ryan into an all too real experience. More and more, dismissing it felt wrong. This was his reality now, and he had a lifetime of catching up to do. 

The woman who walked in first looked to be nearly in her mid fifties. She carried the weight of a slowing metabolism and had red hair with grey coming in at the roots done up in a braid crown. Ivan followed, on the arm of a much younger man with dark hair who wore a shirt with an emblem of some sort emblazoned on the chest. The thin sandy blond young man who followed them had an arm around the waist of a girl who seemed barely in her twenties, wearing a simple dress and a timid expression. 

The two women sat to his immediate right, the blond man just beyond them. Ivan and then his escort to the left. Ivan was the first to speak “Your majesty, I'd like to introduce Melanie, head of castle staff.” The older woman inclined her head toward him. “Lady Sylvia, city peacekeeper.” Ryan glanced with surprise at the younger woman. She smiled shyly at him and ducked her head. For someplace so midevil seeming there was more gender equality in roles then Ryan had expected. Not to mention the fact that this girl hardly seemed the type to wield much authority. Of course, it wasn't fair to make assumptions given the circumstance. “...and Lord Cameron of the Wheyla council, and of course, General Brett, commander of all the armies of Wheyla.” 

“Indirectly.” Brett was the first besides Ivan to speak, correcting the old sorcerer with a fond expression. He looked to Ryan, warmth fading from his expression some as he explained “I’m in command of the castle guard and the troops of the Capitol. In military council I outrank my fellow generals from the other provinces, and in wartime I could issue them orders if necessary.” He glanced back to Ivan then met Ryan's gaze again, now with that warm smile again “Thankfully, that's been unnecessary since the early days of your previous reign, your majesty. We are, officially, in peacetime.”

“You’d never know it to hear Lord Ian talk.” Cameron mumbled. Followed by “My apologies, your majesty.”

Ryan shook his head “No, no, go ahead. I'm still learning.” 

“Kelwhisper doesn't believe in peacetime.” Melanie bust out suddenly. 

“Sure they do.” Brett answered, voice light. “Peacetime in Kelwhisper is when you carry a dagger in your boot instead of a sword on your hip.” A ripple of laughter went up around the table. Then Brett glanced to Ryan again. “My apologies, your Majesty. We sometimes make jokes at the expense of other provinces.”

Ryan shook his head dismissively. “Nothing to apologize for.” 

It was strange how four words could completely change the atmosphere somewhere. Instantly, the five others seemed more relaxed. Conversation picked up and Ryan found it easy to ask questions when he needed. Soon he found it even easier to glean information from conversation. Some things fit together in a way that he began to make more and more accurate assumptions, that he confirmed with questions and was rarely wrong. It was easy enough to ignore how unsettling that was, how much it seemed to prove that he was some sort of reincarnated king whose memories were returning. 

For now, he was just playing a role. Nothing more. 

The meal was simpler then he expected, but plenty. Roasted chicken. Root vegetables hurriedly cooked in the drippings. Bread and butter so good Ryan almost filled up on that before thinking to take an extra serving of meat and vegetables. Melanie tried to apologize for the sparseness of the meal and brought up “a proper feast in a few days time…” and Ryan instantly set to reassuring her it was more than enough. About an hour into the meal, Ryan heard the buzz of voices in the next room and leaned far enough to catch a glimpse through a door left cracked open of several of the servers who’d brought dinner settling in for food of their own.

After dinner, Melanie led a small army of servers to clear the table and Brett offered to escort Ryan back to his room. Ryan tried to ignore the way the parting touch between the General and the old Sorcerer lingered. Whatever was between them wasn’t exactly his business although he was certainly in a phase of accumulating information. 

At his bedroom door, Ryan turned to Brett and asked simply “...are you completely convinced I’m the returned King?” 

Brett considered the question with a shift of his jaw, a flash of an expression just shy of a pout. Then he commented “An imposter would be too afraid of losing my confidence to even raise the question.” then the soldier rested a hand on Ryan’s arm, and reassured. “Your lack of memories is understandable. Even historically consistent with several of your incarnations. We have more evidence than usual though...The court sorcerer is the only one left alive who knew the old King, and well” he smiled suddenly, a wolfs smile. “If you’re tricking Ivan, the crown will reveal it. And I’ll be waiting to find out how you managed.” 

The way General Brett clapped Ryan’s arm had the appearance of friendliness when Ryan could tell it was anything but. Ryan knew a threat when he heard one, and as Brett walked away, Ryan was left to conclude that had been a threat. 

Newly motivated to get a concrete answer one way or another about all this, Ryan returned to the books at his desk. The bedroom was warmer than it had been earlier now, and lit by the low-glowing fire. Ryan adapted to reading by candlelight and stayed up well into the night studying this culture. Searching for any explanation as to what had happened to him, to the others, and anything to prove or disprove their wild claims. 

Ryan just knew he could not sit on that throne unless he knew for sure.


	2. The Mountainside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael arrives in the other world to a...less welcome reception than Ryan had.

It played out like a bullshit hypothetical. It was just the four of them, not even a combination that happened much anymore, when the god-awful high-pitched noise hit the room. Michael thought it was someone’s machine at first and looked around for the cause just in time to see Gavin go down in agony. He was covering his ears and dropping out of his chair onto his knees as Michael shouted “What the FUCK is that?!” over the shrill, horrific sound. Gavin cracked up laughing. Michael had already connected the laughter to the over dramatic behavior and demanded “Gavin what did you DO?!” before he realized that wasn’t Gavin’s mischievous laugh. Gavin sounded fucking terrified. 

Michael moved to stand over Gavin, to try to see what it was. Geoff and Ryan were on their feet too, but the noise had gotten obnoxious enough that Michael couldn’t hear a fucking word they said. Then a bright light washed over him and his vision fractured. Like watching the world through a muted splitscreen. Geoff stepped in toward Gavin, Ryan stepped in toward Geoff. Gavin was on the floor, seemingly screaming his name. Then, one by one, each pocket of vision cut out, away from the office and into a frozen mountainscape before winking into blackness and blending together. Then the cold hit, and Michael instantly regretted that he always wore merch shirts. In less than thirty seconds he was shivering. The half-seen memory of Gavin seeming to fade from existence didn’t help secure his nerves either. What was almost worse was that the darkness didn’t let up. 

Instead, Michael’s eyes started to adjust. There was light coming from somewhere, just not obvious enough to move toward. A sharp gust of wind cut against his face from a very distinct direction though, and Michael, recognizing solid ground under his feet, began walking against it. Less than half a dozen steps in he realized he was a fucking moron and would die of exposure if he got anywhere colder than this. Still, he had to figure out what had happened. More importantly, he had to find Gavin before the idiot got himself killed.

The migraine hit with enough force to drive Michael to the ground only a moment later. The impact of stone on kneecaps and heals of his hands probably left them bruised. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain and tried to focus on something, anything else. On finding Gavin. He had to be here somewhere too, right? That was when the ground gave out from under him, his weight sinking into near liquid that had been solid stone a moment ago. Michael felt panic well up and shifted backwards hard until his ass hit something solid, then he sat back and rolled.

Then he slammed into a wall.

The pain that shot through his shoulder was nothing compared to the pain in his head. The agony redoubled a moment later. Michael braced against the wall, trembling. Forcing his eyes open slowly, steadily, as his head throbbed as if caught in a vice. Resting the back of his head on the cold stone, he finally saw it. Honestly he wished he hadn’t. He was pretty sure that as long as he lived he’d never forget that fucking eye. 

Michael closed his eyes again. Some faraway part of his mind tried to make peace with the fact that he was going to die. That he’d never see his family again...his last moment with his wife would be that stupid face she’d made at him over her coffee cup and his last memory of Gavin would always be...that. The thoughts had enough weight to push through the slowly subsiding pain. He pulled in another freezing breath and forced another thought to the front of his mind, this one deliberate. This one his own.

No.

Every fucking nerve in his body was screaming to his brain that something was wrong. His ability to reason was completely overwhelmed and the simple lizard-brain centuries-deep instinct to just survive won out. Of course, in the end, Michael Jones erred toward fight. He charged full speed toward the weird magical fucker. The regret hit about the time the blast of ice cold water struck him full in the chest but didn’t sink in until his back slammed hard into the cave wall and he slid down. 

Something hard and brittle broke underneath him. Shattered and fractured as he tried to get his feet under him. Brittle, broken bone underneath him alerted Michael to the disturbing fact that at some point in history someone in perhaps his exact circumstance actually died here a long time ago.

Well, fuck them.

Michael dropped his hands to the sides, feeling, reaching, scrambling for something, anything. He wasn’t going to die. His heart was pounding and his head was swimming and he felt agony spreading through his entire being in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe. But he was not going to fucking die. His fingers closed on something cold, everything was cold but this was metal. Michael almost let go of it out of the fear of losing his fucking fingers. Then he twisted his neck down and forced himself to look.

A crossguard pressed into his index finger as he gripped a hilt tightly and what little light in the room reflected off of a blade that probably had rust spots years if not decades old. Michael looked back up at the monster and his stomach turned. 

He realized then that he couldn’t breathe so well. His already useless shirt was soaked through, his body was trembling too hard for him to even hold the sword properly unless he focused his attention on his arm. Then, when Michael looked back at that eye, at the prehensile stalks that grew around it, the dripping needle-like teeth in the horrific maw that he had no interest in getting any closer to then he absolutely had to… Michael felt a flash of that same sort of crushing pain. Only this time he saw it coming in a way and he focused on it. On that giant fucking eye. 

Michael had always said if he ever got into a real fight he’d get right up in their face. Eye contact was a powerful thing. He should have known that against a monster like this he’d be on the losing end of any staring contests. Fucker didn’t even have an eyelid. This time though, he sensed the attack coming. It didn’t manifest as crushing pain inside his skull, it came from the outside. He could feel it coming this time, and he pushed back.

Pushed back with his mind, pushed up and forward with his body. Just running forward hadn’t worked before, but he had a sharp object in his hand. He was also running on pure stupidity born of survival instinct, a lifetime of video games and too many years surrounded by idiots. He dropped when the pressure just behind his sinuses got noticeably worse and went into what was probably the first actually necessary combat roll of his life. Michael bit back a scream when his bruised shoulder took his weight but felt totally vindicated when he saw another jet of water fire above him, right where he’d have been if he hadn’t dropped.

As Michael came up, he nearly puked. Because as monstrous as this fucker looked, it smelled worse. The flesh of it smelled rotten. This close to those teeth something smelled dead. Michael held the bile back in his throat and raised his sword in a fast upward slash swinging hard and strong from the shoulder and felt a strange sense of victory when the thing floated backwards away from him. When he tried to press that victory and close in farther, the ground came up suddenly several inches under his heel and sent him sprawling. 

It was pure luck he didn’t stab himself in the tumble, trying and failing to catch himself and only barely protecting his head. The ground was hard and cold and lying flat on his back against it Michael had another moment of wanting to give in. It was a wave of exhaustion this time that threatened to keep him here, as sudden as it was intense. He’d gone from a normal morning, better than normal, they’d looked to have the main six all together some time that day, riding high on nostalgia and some of the best parts of his job to laying on the floor of a dark cave half dead and trying to convince his body it could still fight to keep from going the rest of the way. All in the space of maybe five minutes. 

Then the ground turned to mush underneath him again. Left with nothing to brace on, Michael found himself sinking. Liquid stone got in his hair and he turned, lifting his sword, which he was becoming progressively more and more sure was going to break. He turned it blade down and pressed it into the stone, putting his weight on the hilt and pulling himself slowly and carefully onto solid earth, until his shoulder pushed against the flat of the blade for a moment before he pushed himself quickly to his feet again. 

It was too dark to orient quickly. He wasn’t sure exactly where the monster had moved to. He didn’t want to spin around like a maniac ether, he didn’t have the energy. Instead he took a few moments to try to breathe. His hair felt heavy as the stone resolidified in it and he cursed under his breath at the new discomfort and implications. 

The agony struck again, and this time Michael fought back hard. It went against every animal instinct he had. Orienting and moving toward the source of pain instead of flinching away and trying to protect himself. Relying on the right side of flight or fight only took him so far and his throat burned from swallowing back sick as he pushed past instincts he was dimly aware would end with him freezing to death or worse.

Just looking at this fucker almost hurt worse than whatever psychic attack it was using to make him feel like his head was being ripped open. It didn’t take long for Michael to close distance. This time it spit flame and Michael didn’t waste time with a combat roll, he ducked low and came in close, sword lifting point first in the empty air under where the monster floated, jabbing directly into its underside. There was a sick squishing sound as flesh was pierced and the noise that the monster made was unholy.

“Fuck you, you fucking fuck.” Michael growled as he drove the sword deeper and braced the best he could, twisting and pushing. When he tore the blade free of the flesh the smell was so bad he gagged as he toppled forward, barely catching himself on his bruised hand. A pained shriek echoed around him, giving Michael a sick sense of pride even as it aggravated his fucking headache. Despite the genuine terror coursing through him, the faint hope this wasn’t actually the worst thing he’d ever put himself through struck him. It was just too bad there wasn’t a camera.

He had to find Gavin. Maybe Gavin would have a camera.

...if he were even still alive.

Michael had not asked for that fucking thought. Of course Gavin was alive, with his fucking phone which had a camera. ...If Gavin had been sent anywhere like this, Michael didn’t know how he was alive, but he refused to entertain the thought that he wasn’t. Gavin was alive, Gavin was okay, and he’d find the fucking asshole before he got himself killed, it was that simple. 

The screeching didn’t stop, which meant the monster wasn’t dead yet. 

Back to his feet and three steps in Michael turned, stepping in fast toward the horrible noise and slashing hard. The blade caught the monster’s side like a baseball bat right as it spewed a jet of flame. Michael let go of the sword and dropped flat onto his chest to suffocate any flame that might catch. He wasn’t even sure how much pain was from burns, if any, and how much was from another hard landing on rocky ground. The stone in his hair was heavy on the back of his neck and he briefly buried his face in his arms. 

The noise that had stopped with the burst of flame resumed and Michael groaned. Flailing forward for his sword, Michael looked up and shouted “Just fucking shut up and fucking DIE already!” and when his hand found the hilt again he jumped to his feet as quickly as he could. Which at this point was as slow as fuck because he was sore everywhere and cold everywhere else. 

The monster was leaking now, some sort of goo like substance that was also dripping from the blade of his sword when he picked it up. For something old and rusted, it was sturdy and Michael made a note that he was going to take it with him and do whatever he could to get the blade in shape if he survived this. When. When he survived this, and found Gavin. They’d make it a project.

Another jet of flame, another totally necessary combat roll because it was the fastest way across the cave and god fucking damn it his shoulder was starting to hurt worse than his head. On his feet again he noticed a trembling through his right arm. From pain or cold or maybe the onset of shock he didn’t know or even really care. Michael just gripped the sword with both hands now, securing his stance and holding his breath so he could raise his sword in the air. The wounded little fucker tried to float away again, but michael had gravity and the weight of the exhausted on his side and he slammed the blade down hard on top of the gross sphere of flesh. 

The impact pushed it down about two feet before the thing exploded into a bright flash that completely blinded Michael and sent him reeling flat onto his ass. The impact jarred his whole body in an almost perfect unison as the worst of the psychic pain let up. It was weird, being flooded with new pain and the euphoria of sudden pain relief in a single instant. Michael just sat there for a few seconds until he mostly just felt cold. Then he sent up a silent prayer that the goopy substance wasn’t acidic...and while he was at it that Gavin hadn’t gotten himself killed yet, and wiped the blade on his pant leg before crawling painfully back to his feet. 

Progress was so slow from there, Michael wasn’t even totally sure it was progress. The monster’s literally flashey death had wiped out any adjustment his eyes had made to the dark. A gust of cold more than vision said he was going in the right direction. Back at square one, with a good deal more pain. From there walking in a straight line eventually took him right to a wall. Which was fucking weird because he was pretty sure this was the direction the wind was coming from. 

Michael followed the wall a few steps and soon realized it fucking curved. Following the curve, the cave got suddenly brighter. Still dark as fuck, but this was obviously the direction the light was coming from. Just beyond the curve there were three more skeletons. 

A lot of things sank in all at once when he saw them, armed and armored just like the one he’d fallen on earlier. Fallen on and crushed in the middle of what he only just now was realizing had been a real battle. Just like the one these poor bastards had probably died during. Michael sucked in a long breath of cold air to try to quiet his sudden nausea and lifted his hand to cover his mouth. HIs fingers were freezing, and the other hand was going to cramp like a bitch if he didn’t stop squeezing the hilt of the sword so hard. 

Whatever the fuck that thing was had killed people. People who’d probably been more skilled than him and definitely better equipped. The sword he’d taken from the first one for example. The others also had things. In the dim lighting, Michael had to get closer to see what those things were, but his approach gave him a certain amount of resolve. He’d survived the monster, these guys didn’t. He’d survive whatever other bullshit was in store for him, and yeah, he’d use a bunch of dead guys stuff to do it. 

All of them had pouches of coins, slightly different sizes and weights across more than a dozen individual coins altogether. It was too dark to tell what the coins were. Michael loaded them all into the same bag and hoped the nearest civilization hadn’t changed currency much in the last however long it took these guys to turn into brittle skeletons. They all also had armor, and shitty, moth-eaten clothes. Still, the clothes were thicker and warmer than the t-shirt Michael was wearing. 

In the end, Michael took two extra layers, a heavy robe and a short tunic, both fucked to bits by time. He topped he heavy cloth with a chainmail shirt as well, and the arm and leg guards from the platemail suit. He tried the helmet too but the pieces of stone still stuck in his hair scratched the metal noisily, so he opted out. A better person then him would put more than a few passing thoughts into burying these guys, or seeing them to some kind of rest. Sore and trembling and feeling like he was going to freeze to death, Michael just almost remorselessly took their stuff. Almost. 

A long coil of rope, a little pouch of bottles and vials that he’d hoped for a second would turn out to be health potions and shit like from the video game this all felt like...before realizing they were all unlabeled and he was more likely to poison himself than anything if he tried one. Feeling significantly less useless and horrible now helped the initial panic of the whole situation subside. It was like checking items off of a to-do box. Step one, survive. Success, mostly. He wasn’t at so much risk of freezing to death anymore with the warm clothes, and the armor might help too. Step two, find Gavin. Or...put together resources to find Gavin. 

Looking back, Michael knew he’d handled a lot of steps in that fight really badly. He was paying for it now. Sure he’d survived but everything hurt. Not quite being tased level pain, but he had a feeling whatever he’d done to himself this time wouldn’t stop hurting so quickly. He tried not to think about it until he could actually do something about it. Instead, he focused on the tasks at hand. Get out of this fucking cave and find Gavin. 

Michael didn’t know what he expected from the edge of the cave, or why he was surprised to find himself on a snow covered mountainside. Nothing should be surprising at this point, he was suppose to be at work on a normal fucking day. Not in a cave in the mountains fighting monsters straight out of some piece of shit fantasy adventure game. He almost wished he had another monster to fight because looking out at the landscape, the vast snow-capped mountain range he was standing in the midst of Michael was fucking furious. He’d waste some energy screaming but well, that would be a waste of energy. Not to mention time. 

Step one, survive.  
Step two, Find Gavin.  
...Fucking impossible.

It was gonna happen anyway. Michael Jones was not going to die. Not like this. He was fucking Mogar for fuck’s sake. He wouldn’t die by being thrown around by some weird magic bullshit that was probably just a really intense dream or hallucination anyway. He was going to survive, he was going to find Gavin, and maybe then they could get to step three, figure out what the fuck had happened to them. 

The snow wasn’t even that deep. A few inches. It’d be hell to drive in but get a few friends out here and it’d be the best for a snowball fight or building snowmen or making snow angels. He’d even bet he and Lindsay could get a half decent Igloo set up over there. Okay, the snow was deep. A couple of drifts got up to his knees but it wasn’t like that as a blanket the way he’d expected when he started out. One drift got up so high that he sank none too gracefully into it. That was when the wasting time and energy screaming and cursing happened. Really, it was pretty inevitable. 

Also inevitable, when walking downhill in deep snow, was falling on his ass and sliding. Or rolling. Or otherwise looking like a total dumbass for several hundred feet more than once. The armor pieces were heavy and the snow was slick and he was exhausted and beat up and still confused and feeling more than a little sick. This hadn’t been the fucking plan for today. He’d just wanted to go to work, have some fun, maybe even be productive, maybe go out afterwards who knows? Michael didn’t even actually know what had happened instead; but here he was. 

Survive. Find Gavin. Then figure it out. 

It almost seemed to be getting colder the further down he got. Easier to breathe though, and best of all easier to keep his balance. He was still soaked through though. Turns out, platemail leg guards do not keep snow from melting and soaking denim. Chainmail sucked at keeping out snow too but it literally has holes in it by design so nobody expected it to be watertight. It was probably a bad sign that he’d stopped shivering even though he was fucking freezing. It was probably worse that he almost felt too warm in some places. Not fucking healthy.

...Was that running water? 

A river wouldn’t actually be helpful, but for some reason Michael found himself breaking into a flat sprint toward it. He had no idea why, or what he hoped to accomplish by getting there. Maybe it was just having a more tangible goal than just ‘survive’ for the first time since the fight. Getting to the river, following it...he was more likely to find something, someone...who could help him with that whole surviving and finding Gavin thing. Or who would fuck him over but Michael wasn’t picky at this point. Friend or enemy, he just wanted something else to happen.

Once he could see the river instead of just hearing it, Michael had to stop for a moment to admire the view. He was freezing, he was terrified, he’d almost died, probably getting sick, and he was wearing shit he’d stolen off skeletons...but damn. Right now the only thing he could bring himself to hate about this place was that he was here alone. It was fucking gorgeous. Michael was actually starting to think he’d seen this place painted on Christmas Cards. Not the cozy ones with houses, the weird landscape ones. 

He approached the river a bit more slowly from that point, and once he was within about a hundred feet or so of the bank he just started following it. Civilizations were drawn to water sources in any world in any time of history, or what passed for civilization; and Gavin, also in any world at any time in history, would be drawn toward civilization. Or whatever passed for civilization in a place where monsters lived in caves and people they killed just stayed there until they rotted into skeletons. 

Michael didn’t know how long it was before he heard voices. They were distant at first, and he wasn’t sure where they were coming from because of a hint of echos off the mountains. They got louder as he kept moving forward and son Michael spotted them. A group of men bundled up in fur and out in a little wooden boat on the river. They were talking and laughing and handling something off one side of the boat together. 

Fishermen, Michael’s mind supplied somewhat belatedly as he approached the bank opposite from them. The first actual people he’d seen here and except for the giant fur coats they almost looked like something out of a sunday school book. There were three of them, and he couldn’t make out any of the words they were saying. But they were heavily dressed and laughed with a familiarity that hurt in a way only being reminded one had been ripped away from their home could hurt. Michael took a few deep breaths and fumbled for the pouch with the coins, counting through them the best he could. He wasn’t too surprised to learn they came in some sort of bronze or copper, silver, and gold circles. 

He didn’t get a good count of exactly how much he had, but gold was gold and he had at least six of those. It seemed like more. Michael pushed the coins back into the bag and watched the fishermen. After a few moments of observing them, Michael called out. It took two shouts and waving like a dumbass for any of them to notice and then it felt like fucking forever before they did anything productive about it. 

Michael had to follow them downstream as they moved toward the bank. He was pretty sure they thought he was a freak, or worse. Unsheathed sword hanging from his belt. In fact, thinking about it from their perspective, Michael was a little bit worried they were bothering to come over to him. They were probably going to kill him or something. Feed him to some other monster or some shit. 

“No, Nahall.” Michael heard an exasperated voice from the boat with clarity as they approached the store. “I absolutely am NOT daring you to jump to shore when we get close. I am NEVER daring you to jump to shore when we get close. Now sit down and stop getting water in the boat!” 

“I’m not getting water in the boat, Sean! I’m just saying I could make it!” 

“Keep your coat on! Colman would make me explain to everyone if you freeze to death.” 

“I would.” the third, darker man agreed without looking up, mostly focusing on navigating the boat to shore as the other two stood facing each other, the shorter, broader one literally holding the taller, more delicate, and apparently more stupid, ones coat closed and positioned between him and the shore. 

Michael’s lungs hurt from the cold. Or maybe from the effort of holding back terrified sobs of relief. The reality of this place, the fact that he’d been ripped from home and and sent somewhere else where people existed and that Gavin was somewhere out there, completely alone. Hearing their voices, the familiar warmth in the shouting.. It brought the reality of his situation home in a way that left him struggling not to fucking cry in front of these total strangers. It had to be the exhaustion setting in. 

The little boat struck shore and the one who’d been doing all the work to get there stood up and pushed past the two Michael now realized were clearly not only lighter skinned, but younger. They were all wearing giant bulky fur coats that Michael couldn’t imagine were safe to wear on boats since if you fell over they’d drag you right down. In this cold though he understood the reason for them. The coats served to mostly make them physically only slightly differently sized blobs of fur with faces and Michael didn’t consider himself an expert in body language or anything, but this guy was pretty overt. Everything about him screamed protective, he was making himself a brick wall between Michael and the other two. “You called to us?” he demanded in an abrupt tone just this side of harsh. 

“Yeah.” Michael shot back reflexively. Meeting his tone an instant before realizing that was the wrong approach. “I’m... lost and you guys are the first actual people I’ve seen.” 

He still sounded defensive despite having censored himself. Luckily, the response he got was a bit softer. “Where are you from?” 

Michael laughed. Just a short little bark that he had to let out so he didn’t actually lose it and start either screaming or crying he honestly wasn’t sure which at this point. “How far back are we talking?” he finally answered. “Most recently? That cave.” he pointed vaguely behind him, turning some only to realize that the cave he meant was completely out of sight. How far had he walked? “...A cave.” he corrected, turning back to the stranger. “Somewhere back there. Right before that is a giant fucking blur.” Which wasn’t a lie. He could opt out of explaining anything else. 

Eye contact. Michael held the man’s gaze and studied him for several moments. His eyes were darker but otherwise he had the same whole sleepy looking thing that Geoff had going. It only took a few beats to realize that he was actually younger than Geoff, closer to Michael’s age actually, but he seemed a lot older. Maybe it was a trick of his full beard that curled as thick as his hair, but more likely it was his eyes. Beyond him, the boys who had managed to be quiet for several moments picked up bickering again quietly. Michael couldn’t even hear what it was about.

“Look.” Michael said finally, even though it’d only been a few seconds since he’d spoken. “I’m not looking for handouts or anything. I can pay you.” He went into the little bag of coins and pulled out a gold one, displaying it between his fingers. He realized belatedly that if these weren’t good men and that was still valuable currency he might have just invited his own murder. Choosing not to focus on that he simply finished “I just...need a hand.” 

Michael didn’t understand the word the taller guy breathed, but he was pretty sure it was a swear word. The one in front also look struck, and if Michael had to guess he’d figure they didn’t see gold very often. The third guy didn’t look impressed, but Michael figured his face was so pinched and squished for his head he wouldn’t be able to tell anyway. “What are you asking?” the heavy-lidded man finally asked carefully.

“Shelter?” Michael tried. “Directions to at least. Just. Some help getting my feet under me.” 

“How much are you offering?” 

None of them were looking at him anymore. They were all looking at the fucking coin. How rare were these things? Or was he just somewhere dirt poor? Michael had no idea. He had ten of them so… fuck it. “How much are you asking?” 

“How much do you have?” Was the fast answer. 

“Not how this works.” Michael shot back. At the way the shorter of the two younger men, the one he realized had been doing the shouting on the boat, tensed at that Michael suddenly remembered how much he was not in a position to be negotiating. “How does one for each of you and a fourth to fight over when I can feel my fucking face again sound?” Michael suggested. He didn’t want to throw a lot of money around while outnumbered. He wasn’t too worried though, as far as he could tell they weren’t armed and if it came down to it, he was. 

The boys began whispering together, voices rising sharply. Then the other man cut them off with a decision. “We’ll take it.” 

Michael bit back the reflex to point out that his boys didn’t seem so sure. He needed this to go well, because he was fucking cold and if they changed their minds things could go very badly. He didn’t want things to go badly. They were rightfully wary and Michael just wanted to sit down and warm up. He needed to find Gavin though - but, he reminded himself, Gavin was drawn to civilization, right? It was his best bet. Or maybe the promise of relief was just making him fucking delusional from exhaustion. 

“I’m Coleman.” the man directly in front of him finally introduced. Then he gestured behind him, first at the shorter of the two. “That’s Sean, and this is Nahall.” 

Michael nodded in response. There were no hands offered, so maybe that wasn’t a thing here. No surprise, it was fucking cold and he didn’t see gloves. “Michael.” he introduced simply.

The four of them got into the boat, Sean caught Michael by the arm as he stepped over the edge. He thought for a second it was to help him keep his balance until the rough hand stayed closed on his arm. Even once they both sat on the narrow bench on one end of the boat, Colman and Nahall on the other Sean kept a grip on his arm. Colman was across from him and Nahall across from Sean, and only once they were all seated did Michael realize Sean was being protective of the other two. It wasn’t a hard grip, even in the state he was in Michael was pretty sure he could get out of it if he needed or even really wanted to. It was the thought that counted though. Even though he was the threat that Sean was trying to protect his friends from, the subtle effort that Michael might totally be pulling out of his ass because he was tired and over thinking made him kinda like the guy. Well, that and the way he’d heard him shouting at Nahall earlier. 

Fuck he’d gotten homesick fast. 

The boat ride across the river was uncomfortably silent. About halfway there Nahall shifted and nudged at Seans foot with his and Sean trapped the suddenly much younger seeming boys leg against the side of the boat with his, earning a muted yelp. Michael dropped his head to hide his laughter at the exchange and ended up just putting his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees, and resting. 

Maybe he even dozed off, because before he knew it Seans’ elbow was catching his a little harder than necessary. Michael swore and fumbled for his sword, looking around to find they were were pulled in at an actual, if makeshift looking, dock. They climbed out of the boat and of course there was more walking. Michael didn’t even know how far, and the silence didn’t last. Nahall fell into step with Colman a few steps ahead of Sean and Michael and they spoke in whispers. They’d been walking for a while but it didn’t seem like they’d gotten that far when Colman turned to him. 

“Alright.” the man said. “Here’s a good halfway point. We’ve proven we’re not going to hurt you I think, but if we get much farther we’ll lose our chance to bring in a haul for the day. So make it worth our while or we’ll have to turn back now.” 

It took Michael a moment to understand what he was talking about. Then he felt like an idiot, went back into his little bag and pulled three of the little gold coins and handed one to each of them. Nahall laughed gleefully and flipped his in the air, leaning back to catch it. “Don’t fucking lose it.” Michael snapped, not sure why he cared beyond not wanting to get in trouble for someone elses’ stupidity. He was amused that his shout had come in right over the top of Sean snapping something similiar that he couldn’t make out over his own voice. 

The atmosphere between the three of them lightened considerably after that. Of course, everyone felt better after payday. Nahall took to rushing ahead and then lagging back, leaving Michael to begin to wonder how old the kid was. Even Sean walked more freely now, slightly ahead of Colman who now fell into step with Michael. Michael turned to the older man with the question on his mind. “So the three of you work together?” 

“They are...well, they were my apprentices?” Colman’s voice lifted at the end of the explanation so it was more of a question, and he chuckled and ducked his head. “They’ve been with me what...six? Years now.” He laughed a bit to himself. “Longer than I was with the old fisherman before…” he trailed off instead of explaining, then finished “So I don’t even know that I can really call them apprentices anymore.” 

Michael talked to Colman a little bit more. He was quick with a story and slow to say much of substance. Smiling and treating Michael to a wary sort of warmth that he got tired of quickly. Eventually, the snow became hard packed from frequent travel, and something of a road formed. A small road, tiny things that didn’t seem that wel constructed at a glance, but given that they withstood the weather that had created this region Michael could only guess they were better then they looked. 

The one they took him to opened into a cramped tavern. Fewer than half a dozen tables scattered around the short bar filled the too small room. Colman explained that there were rooms for rent here, not that they ever got much use. It was a pretty isolated little community. Michael handed that fourth gold coin he’d promised the group to Colman, and they took off. 

Probably because they were worried how he’d react to finding out that the inn only charged two fucking silver coins for a night and he’d overpaid them by a lot for just bringing him to town. Except he hadn’t, because yeah, he felt a little bit scammed, but they’d saved his life. They’d proven to him this place wasn’t just full of monsters and in some weird way they’d given him hope that he’d find Gavin in one piece. That was worth almost half of his gold, easy. 

Of course, he was gonna call them out for it if he ever saw them again. 

The bedroom for rent was fucking tiny. He could cross it in two footsteps, one and a half if he really tried. There wasn’t even a bed, more like a pile of blankets sewn together into a pad in one corner, and a shitty little table with a sketchy as fuck chair and an open flame candle in the other. It made Michael half wish he’d taken Lindsay’s lighter when Ryan had informed him she’d dropped it earlier that day, instead of just telling him to give it to her. Probably good not to have it, the room was made wood and looked like it could go up if something so much as sparked wrong. The door was locked from the inside with a deadbolt. Michael used it and stripped off his armor. He almost took off the heavy shirt he’d taken, wanting to rid himself of everything he took off the dead people in the cave and process. Except it was fucking cold, too cold even in here to go back to just the t-shirt. 

Michael flipped over on the bed, and felt the rocks in his hair press hard into his neck. He winced and resolved to get those cut out as soon as he could. He was looking at probably the worst haircut of his life, and wasn’t that just a really fucking vain thought in this kind of life or death world? His mind was still spinning when the exhaustion in his body overtook him, leading to a significantly restless sleep.


	3. The Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff meets a band of Adventurers.

Gavin went down, hard and screaming. Geoff would’ve thought it was a prank, what with how Ryan tried to stop him from going to Gavin. Pretty cruel prank, Gavin hadn’t been faking. Of course, not even Ryan could melt the office into nothing and leave Geoff flat on his back under a tree, in a grove...no, the trees went on too far to just be a grove. Geoff was in the woods. Had someone drugged him? He didn’t feel drugged...he felt pretty good even, if a bit more sober than he had been a moment ago. Except for the trees everywhere and grass under his butt that had to be a pretty serious hallucination. 

Geoff pulled himself to his feet, picked a direction, and started walking. He stopped for a moment to put his palm flat on the trunk of a tree and leaned his weight into it. Solid, definitely bark. Detailed hallucination. He took a couple steps and tried it again, to the same results. Maybe not a hallucination, then. Or if it was, he was far gone enough that he might as well pretend it was real. Just until actual reality broke through and someone pulled him out. He walked a couple hundred more yards and stumbled on a wide, hard-packed dirt road. Once again, Geoff picked a direction at random. About five minutes later he heard horses behind him.

The horses were pulling a covered wagon. Geoff stepped aside to get out of the way, squinting at the man holding the reigns. He was a stranger, Geoff didn’t even imagine he’d recognize him. Looked like a bigger guy. Geoff saw him turn and say something, and the wagon passed Geoff and stopped just a little up the road, almost completely blocking it. The ladies that hopped out of the back stopped Geoff in his tracks. 

They were wearing armor. 

The taller woman wore studded leather over a blue...was that a dress? She had a strawberry-blond ponytail. Behind her the short one was completely bald, and even had some sort of tattoo on the back of her head that stretched around the crown. She was wearing a chainmail shirt...and not much else. Scraps of fabric under it barely covered the important bits. Geoff fixed his eyes on the taller one instead, she had the friendlier expression anyway. “Selling something, friend?” she asked. Her voice was cheerful and a bit nasal. 

“Uh...no?” Geoff answered. “I have no idea where I am.” 

Some sort of silent exchange passed between the women and the red-head spoke again. “You’re in the East Forest of Wheyla.” Geoff almost didn’t hear the W in her pronunciation, it was hardly more than a breath before a hard H sound. The straightforward way she said the strangely pronounced word, completely without theatrics that would make him think she was making it up. 

“Okay.” Geoff deadpanned. “Can you give me that in actual...geographical...coordinates I don’t know where am I?” 

She tilted her head, expression becoming confused. Geoffs gaze flashed to the smaller one, whose features had gone into a twisted grin, and she was studying him like a piece of meat. He didn’t want to know what that look meant. Then the taller woman spoke “Vin? Do you have our coordinates?” 

The driver hopped down from the front and wandered back with a limp. He was carrying a large roll of paper. He then unrolled it and showed the redhead. “We...are here.” then he looked at her “I’d give you the numbers? But I know they’d be meaningless to you.” 

The readhead tossed the map face-up on to the ground, and Geoff squatted to inspect it. His knees and back protested this decision and were in turn ignored. The map was unrecognizable. A lumpy-looking amalgamation of boarders and natural features. “Here.” she indicated. “Just west of the Capsia mountains. Near the Eastern border of Wheyla capitol.” 

“...for real?” 

She looked at him, surprised. “Where are you from?” 

“Texas.” he almost snapped. He wasn’t in the mood, and hopefully she would cut the crap and...break character or whatever. “Austin, Texas.” 

“I’m...sorry…” she said, voice going sad sounding and even more confused. “I’ve never heard of Austin, or Texas.” 

“The United States?” Geoff pushed, pitch rising in anger. 

She shook her head, and the man behind her asked “United Territories? Is Lord Ian pushing that name again?” 

“Lord…” Geoff started to echo “No!” he sat heavily as the pieces of the impossible puzzle fell into place. “No, the United States...I...yeah, I’m either being pranked really hard, in which case I will PAY you to break character…” Geoff scrubbed his hands over his face, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “...or I’m completely fucked.” 

He could hear the map being rerolled. A moment later Geoff felt a hand on his arm. “Hey.” he looked up at the redhead. “Come with us. My name’s Winter. That’s Scorpio.” she gestured at the short, and Geoff suddenly noticed, armed, women. “Our Driver is Vin, and there’s two more in the wagon. You should come with us.” 

“...why?” Geoff asked suspiciously.

“One.” the redhead, Winter, replied. “My conscious can’t take leaving a confused, cute older man by the side of the road, alone and unarmed.” Geoff looked up a bit more properly when she called him cute. And older. At least she hadn’t said old. “Two, I’m way too greedy to share my weapons and supplies no matter how guilty I’ll feel for not and three…” she stood up “We’re going to visit Delya, a seer. Joy didn’t have questions for her anyway so you can use his.” 

It was, for what it was, a pretty generous offer. “Thank you.” he said, pulling himself to his feet for the second time in as many hours. 

“”No problem. C’mon in.” she invited, leading him back to the wagon. “Oh.” she paused then “and if you try anything, Scorpio will kill you.” 

“Winter.” the shorter woman finally spoke. Her voice was rough, like she didn't use it often. She probably didn't. 

“You’ve gotten better.” Winter conceded. “But you’re still pretty defensive, sweetie.” then she climbed into the wagon. 

Scorpio looked at Geoff, and gestured. “Well?” 

Geoff climbed into the wagon after Winter. 

There were two men inside, one with a mop of frizzy blond curls, and the other just looked old. Maybe even old enough to be Geoff’s father. He wore plate greaves and leg guards and was sitting next to a heavy looking breastplate that his muscles and broad chest suggested he wore. 

Geoff sat across from the two who were already seated, and Scorpio sat next to him. Winter, meanwhile, curled against the side of the frizzy haired guy and introduced “This is Joy, the old man’s Alen.” Geoff nodded at the two men in turn as he settled onto the floorboards of the wagon. “You didn’t want your questions for Delya, did you?” 

“Nah.” the blond answered. “My life is exactly the way I like it already.” He leaned in and Winter reacted with a lovestruck smile and tilting her head up for a short kiss. Winter leaned her head on his shoulder. “You have questions for a seer, buddy?” Joy asked Geoff. 

“I just have a lot of questions.” Geoff answered honestly. 

“He’s exactly as lost as he looks.” Winter supplied. “Three answers from a seer should get him started. So he can use yours, right?” 

Joy shrugged. “Sure.” 

“Where’re you from?” Alen asked suddenly. Geoff tried to hide his startle at the interruption of the suddenly almost domestic atmosphere by the old man’s cold voice. 

“Texas!” Geoff answered, frustration bubbling once more. “...but Winter’s never even heard of anywhere I’ve ever lived so…” he trailed off, hands going up to indicate that he’d given up. “So...does this seer...does this seer...look into the future? Or...how is this going to work?” Geoff asked. 

“Delya isn’t a prophetess, just a seer.” Winter clarified. “So she can see what is, but not what will be. But she can see...all… that is.” Geoff couldn’t have hidden his disbelief if he tried. “You believe in someone who can see the future but not someone who can see the present?” Winter asked. 

“I’m not sure I believe any of this.” Geoff replied. “Seriously, if this is some sort of prank I will give each of you so much money to break character, please. Name your fucking price.” They looked around, exactly as awkwardly as any group of people who weren’t playing a prank would look at each other on this being said. After a moment Scorpio leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. Her expression was still but after a moment Geoff was able to see past her hard mask and realize that he was scaring her. He was probably scaring all of them. He only felt bad for a moment before he had so much more to be afraid of right now. Sitting in a covered wagon with four strangers; four armed strangers at that. All of whom were telling him he’d somehow traveled to another world. 

Phrasing it like that, with how that noise had affected Gavin, and how both of the lads had just vanished, it started to make sense to Geoff. A totally nonsensical sort of sense where the impossible was reality. He’d read enough children’s fantasy to know he was handling the situation like an ass. Still, he wasn’t quite prepared to handle it any other way just yet. He looked at Scorpio’s hand, then at her face. She squeezed slightly and he looked at her with all the surprise he felt at the gesture and she withdrew her hand. Several moments passed in tense silence before the wagon came to a rolling halt. 

Scorpio and Winter were both up in an instant, Winter to the front of the wagon and Scorpio to the back. “What’s happening?” Winter asked. 

Geoff couldn’t quite hear Vin’s response but it sounded an awful lot like “slime in the road.” 

“Elemental?” 

“Can’t tell yet.” 

Scorpio hopped out the back of the wagon and Alen followed. Geoff glanced at Joy, then got up and moved to the front. Joy moved to the back. As Geoff was emerging at the front of the wagon, Winter jumped down and took off at a dead run toward the treeline off the path ahead. Geoff started to ask a question, but he stopped when he saw the ‘sime’. It was translucent blue and well over six feet high, nearly as wide as it was high blocking the entire narrow forest road with its body. Dark patches and gaping holes seemed to be a mockery of any sort of proper face. Scorpio and Alen rushed the thing, swords in hand. 

Vin was already on his feet, one hand on the reins and the other outstretched. Any chance of this all being an elaborate prank vanished when a burst of red light came from Vin’s hand and struck Scorpio. Her whole body glowed bright red for a moment, and beside her Alans glowed green. Then the colored light drained out of them until all that glowed was their swords, both of which striking the slime almost in unison. Both tore gashes along the monsters body, but the one Scorpio left seemed to linger while the other closed quickly. “Yes!” Vin shouted, suddenly firing a blue bolt at Scorpio as arrows came from...somewhere...and started striking the side of the slime. “Hey, friend.” Vin spoke without looking. Geoff couldn’t blame him. The slime spurted a gust of what looked like water that struck Scorpio the same moment as Vin’s blue bolt. “My bedroll is right behind the seat. There’s a medkit in there. Dump it out on the seat next to me and take the bag to the back.” Geoff had a moment to look at Vin, confused, as Scorpio rolled to her feet, a small blue wisp trailing behind her as she struck again with the sword that still glowed red. “Get in the trunk in the back left. There’ll be a bunch of empty glass bottles. Put as many of those in my medkit as will fit and bring it back to me.” 

“...why?” Geoff asked, completely incredulous that empty bottles would be more important in a medkit than medical supplies. 

Vin sent another blue bolt out to hit Alan, giving him a blue wisp as well as they moved together. Alans sword had gone red like Scorpios, and both were hacking into the slime with impressive speed. “Herbalism 101.” Vin replied, sounding not without sarcasm. “I’ll teach you after the battle.” 

Geoff obeyed then, returning with the medkit and dumping it out in time to hear Joy shout from the nearby treeline “Vin if you give away my position trying to boost me, the next arrow goes in your ass.” Vin laughed. It was a good sound to have closeby, Especially when it overlapped with a sick squishing, sloshing sound from the slime. Geoff made the mistake of looking up at it, and instantly regretted it. The dark patches that pretended to be a face were twisted around from their initial configuration, wide in places and thinned to lines in others that made the pseudo face appear to be screaming. Geoff ran in the back and started filling the empty bag with the empty bottles. He could still hear shouts between the party, and there was no doubt of that Geoff had stumbled on an adventuring party straight out of a D&D campaign, and that same gross sloshing noise that he could only think of as the slime screaming. 

The slime was dying when Geoff emerged again. Melting. Vin took the bag without so much as a nod to Geoff and jumped off the wagon. He landed in a heap and Geoff was briefly worried for the safety of the bottles. They weren’t made of the thickest glass in the world. Vin scrambled to his feet and ran up as the slime began to disintegrate. Vin, Joy, and apparently Winter had appeared again out of nowhere to fall on what was left of the monster with the bottles, collecting what they could. Alan approached the wagon again. “Are you alright?” asked the old man. 

“Yeah.” Geoff answered, still watching. “Yeah, I’m fine. “...what...what was that thing? I mean. A slime obviously but…” 

“Well, in the east, they’ll tell you the monsters are the children Gindo has with the animals of nature. This close to the west the story is more likely to be that they’re vengeful spirits, rejected by the gods in their afterlife. ...and as we go further south people will likely tell you they rise up out of the ocean when Ysillu is angry.” he said the last with a hint of a disbelieving laugh. “And those are just the popular stories in Wheyla.” 

Geoff blinked, then “...Who are Gindo and Ysillu?” he wasn’t sure why he was asking. He was pretty sure he didn’t want the answer. It hinted at a whole, confusing mythology. 

“You know.” the old man replied “Visalus, Ysillu, and Zerisi…” he trailed off, seeming increasingly confused. Geoff must have been staring at him totally blankly, as that was how he felt. He was pretty sure those words were suppose to be names, since they weren’t any kind of word Geoff had ever heard before. As the rest of the party came up behind him, Alen turned to the group. “Our new companion doesn’t know anything about the gods. Not even Visalus.” 

Winter whistled a long note of surprise, and Scorpio snorted and commented “Lucky.” At Alen’s disapproving look she shrugged and asked “What?” in a tone that sounded like nothing so much as a rebellious teenager. Alen ignored her. 

“How…?” Winter asked. 

“When he asked what the slime was I thought he was just sheltered. Raised in a city. ...but…” Alen offered. 

Geoff couldn’t help but grumble “I’m standing right here.” as they talked about him. He didn’t need to have said that. They were all staring at him in total confusion. It was why Geoff was the first to see the creature that came out of the treeline behind the rest of them. 

“Get on or I’m stealing the wagon!” he shouted, grabbing the reins and snapping them. To his instant relief, the horses started running. Alan had been standing closest, and had grabbed the chair when Geoff spoke, so he was climbing on the moving wagon the moment it started. Pretty fucking quick for an old man. “Geez, how old are you?” he asked. It was a question to focus on to pull his mind out of the sudden blinding terror of a moment ago. Not that he was safe from the cause of that terror. 

Scorpio came up behind him, hand ghosting over his. Her voice was still when she said “They’ll go faster if I’m driving.” Geoff surrendered the reins without question. Scorpio did, in fact, get more speed out of the horses, but Geoff was left feeling fidgety and helpless. Only for a moment, although it felt like hours. Then Winter spoke. “Geoff, help me back here.” 

Geoff obeyed again, but made the mistake of looking out the back of the wagon. They had all apparently gotten on board despite the speed he’d taken off with. Joy was firing arrows out the back, and Vin was, there was no other possibility, Vin was casting a spell on each of the arrows before Joy let them fly. The real mistake was looking past them. At the giant fucking snake that was now actively chasing them. 

Geoff whimpered, catching Winter’s attention. “Geoff.” her voice was hard, and in control. She went near the back, Geoff wanted to stop her, that was where the snake was coming from! She came back with some empty bottles, and pulled a small bag and a flask out of her pack. “Okay, put these herbs in the bottom of the bottle, then pour in a splash of this and cap it FAST. Alright? The fumes are toxic.” Geoff obeyed, and the moment he finished the first one she threw it, right out the back, where it exploded on contact with the snakes face. 

It was still chasing them. 

“Keep ‘em coming.” Winter ordered. It occurred to Geoff, distantly, that he was doing a lot of following her orders. Might have something to do with her generosity and competence. Might have more to do with his own complete lack of ability to understand anything that was happening to him anymore. His hands fell into a pattern. Pinch, Pour, Cap, Pass. Geoff was smart enough to not look up again until there was a cheer in the back of the wagon. By the time he looked, the snake was gone. 

Vin turned and dropped to his knees, arms draping over Geoff’s shoulders and pulling him into a sudden tight embrace. “Thank you!” the larger man gasped. “Thank you so much you saved my horses!” Geoff awkwardly pulled away from the hug, and Vin scrambled to the front where Scorpio was stopping the wagon.

When Geoff turned back, Winter was offering her hand. “Good work there.” 

Geoff shook her hand, feeling the sudden onset of exhaustion from the adrenaline. “What the hell WAS that thing?” 

“Zeriboa.” Winter answered. 

“I’m assuming that means giant fucking snake?” Geoff practically screeched and Winter laughed. 

“That’s exactly what it means. ...you should probably lay down…” Winter guided him over to one far side of the wagon and Geoff laid down as directed. She produced a pillow from somewhere while Geoff focused on trying to stop the shaking that had suddenly started in his hands. They’d been strangely steady when he’d been being chased by a giant snake given that they were being chased by a giant snake. That was gone now that the crisis was over. 

“Am I the only one who remembers he tried to leave us for zeriboa food?” Joy demanded.

“You’re the only one who thinks it’s important.” Scorpio interjected.

Bickering of some kind continued. Geoff thought he heard something about setting up camp. Real sleep wasn’t really an option but as light faded from the sky, he found himself dozing slightly. He was pretty sure the others wouldn’t kill him in his sleep, even if he had blown his chance at using Joy’s questions. 

He’d figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this story and wanna chat with me about it, or even want to request a commission, you can contact me at my tumblr (also FriendlyCybird) or on my discord server!  
> https://discord.gg/CqhYKxW


	4. The Villiage

When Michael woke up the room was even darker than he’d fallen asleep in and fucking freezing. The cold was the first thing he became aware of, followed by an urgent need to piss. Only then did he notice the rocks in his hair, and that was immediately followed by an avalanche of memories of giant shitpile of crazy that had abruptly become his life. Eventually he could see well enough to be comfortable standing and heading to the door. It was a bit of a trick to get from the door to the stairs. Once down the stairs in the tavern proper, it got easier to see and move around. 

The first thing he saw was the girl behind the bar. For a second, wishful thinking and passing resemblance caused his breath to catch. She had the same body type as Lindsay. Once his mind registered that it wasn’t his wife, his heart rate slowed again. Her hair was even the same color, although her skin was a shade or two darker and she wore her hair up in carefully pinned french braids. Her dress was plain and made of thick cloth. Michael nodded at her and approached. She offered a friendly smile. “We’re not open down here just yet, but we’ll have breakfast on in a couple hours.” 

“Actually, I was just looking for uh…” and that was when he realized that he had no idea what sort of tech level this place had. If indoor plumbing was even a thing. Or for that matter, what they called their restrooms. So instead he just shifted awkwardly in the universal body language that would indicate he had to fucking piss. 

Thankfully, the girl understood quickly. At first, Michael thought she was pointing at an old man curled up on the floor diagonal from the front door, seemingly passed out. Then Michael noticed the door behind him. Nodding thanks, Michael went past the little old man carefully through the door into what seemed at first like a small hallway with another door at its far end. Michael started toward the second door before he realized that there were a series of four chamber pots lining one wall. He hesitated longer than he wanted to, eventually making the regrettable decision to crack open the second door and peek outside. The smell from the hole right outside hit almost instantly and Michael closed it quickly. He’d guess the pots were freshly emptied this morning then. Good to know. 

It was pretty solid as far as bathrooms without plumbing went. Nowhere for hand washing though. That was uncomfortable. When Michael walked back out the girl was talking to the old man. “I said we’re open, not that we’re serving cider. The sun’s not even up yet, can you at least wait until daytime to get drunk?” she was talking to the old man Michael had almost tripped over on his way in. He’d made his way over to the bar and was leaning heavily on it. Michael joined him, several feet away. He could smell the alcohol on the old man. 

“What are you serving?” Michael asked.

The girl completely lit up. It wasn’t until she answered “For you? I don’t have breakfast started yet but I can make some Aylmerian Brew to start your day.” that he realized she was flirting with him. Not even real flirting. Over the top, awkward, intimidated flirting. Michael knew he wasn’t attractive enough to inspire that sort of reaction. Which meant Coleman or one of the other fishermen must’ve stuck around and shown off the gold he’d been spending like a fucking idiot yesterday.

“Can I get an Aylmerian Brew?” the old man asked eagerly. 

“Can you afford an Aylmerian Brew?” the girl asked, maybe a bit more snobbishly than was strictly called for.

"How much is an...Aylmerian Brew?" Michael interjected, struggling briefly with the new word. 

The girl gave him a longsuffering look and answered “You’re paying for accommodations.” in a pointed tone that Michael could tell was directed at the old man, but also suggested her attitude was less snobbery and more just being fed up. 

“Got it.” Michael answered.

“I’ll be right back.” she said, stepping toward, then through, a door behind the bar. Michael settled in, leaning on the elbows. He had just enough time to start to be uncomfortable, too warm under the layers he’d kept on since last night, but hands still chilled enough he didn’t want to risk removing them. He glanced over at the old man, who was shuffling pathetically. He looked away. Honestly enough was going on right now that he didn’t need to get caught up feeling sorry for the town drunk. 

The girl returned with two very large ceramic mugs. “Aylmerian Brew.” she said, offering one to Michael, then the other to the old man “and a Robusta, no milk.” 

Michael sipped what turned out to be surprisingly delicious black coffee. He closed his eyes a little bit and let the warmth and caffeine seep into his chilled and exhausted body. The old man next to him was grumbling a little bit, and Michael’s legs were trembling from the effort of standing while thawing. He wandered with his mug over to the nearest table and sat heavily. A moment later he heard the girl loudly scold “Marksian, no! Magic will crack the cups! ...you know better Marksian.” 

“‘S too hot.” the old man slurred. “You keep the robusta too hot to hide the fact that it tastes like shit.” 

“You need it colder just take it outside for a minute.” the girl argued. “You know better than to use a chill spell on ceramic.” 

“An I thought your father taught better n to sell to mysterious foreigners. What’ll you do if he’s from Aylmer?” So Aylmer was a place. A place that made damn good coffee. Also, as Michael’s mind caught up with the argument, he realized apparently the old drunk knew magic. That was a thing here. A common enough thing that there was a no magic allowed rule at the bar. Worse, the old man who knew magic was suspicious of him. Apparently being from the same place as the really good coffee was a bad thing? 

The girl wasn’t intimidated even slightly by the prospect. “I’d wonder what he’s doing this far east and tell him he passed Kelwhisper a summit or two ago.” 

The old man scoffed and took the mug back to his corner by the bathroom. The girl disappeared back into the room behind the bar. Michael finished his coffee in silence, considering his options. He took the empty mug back to the bar and left it there, not seeing anywhere to put it. A moment later the girl emerged from the back room. She took the cup and smiled “Breakfast should be ready soon.” then she glanced at Marksian and sighed slightly “for the both of you, I suppose.” the old man nodded to her, and Michael did the same before she blinked at him “...what’s that in your hair?” 

Michael had to reach back and check before he remembered. “Rocks?” he answered. “There was a…” he shrugged “I don’t know what the fuck to call it. But something melted the ground under me last night. It got in my hair. ...the ground. Not the...thing.” 

“Did it look like a massive floating eyeball with teeth?” the old man grumbled, still nursing his too-hot presumably nonalcoholic beverage. “And weird stalks with more eyeballs?” 

“Yes!” Michael turned to him, suddenly excited that his experience was to some degree shared. 

Marksian nodded. “You’re lucky to be alive.” he commented. Then took a long drink and made a face. “I’ve met those monsters. I’m surprised it let you go.” 

Michael hissed through his teeth. “Yeah it...uh...it didn’t.” The surprise was tangible as the meaning of the claim glanced off the other two. “I kinda...look, I’m not saying I’m…” he trailed off briefly, then “yeah, I killed it.” 

Marksian looked away almost pointedly, gulping now from his mug. The girl exhaled as suddenly as if she’d been punched. “Oh wow.” Michael shifted, uncomfortable, aware that they were staring openly and trying desperately not to stare at him respectively. Which meant that killing that thing had been exactly as big of a deal as it had felt like. Now the question was, was he about to get in a fuckload of trouble, or be treated like some kind of badass? 

“Damn.” the old man finally supplied. Turning to look at him, and not just look at him, look him over. Which...not comfortable. “Shouldn’t be surprised you have it in you. Where are you from, kid?”

How the fuck was he suppose to answer that? Michael settled with just opening his mouth and letting words fall out. “...If I say ‘not Aylmer’ is that going to make me sound suspicious or…?” 

It worked well enough. Marksian made a noise that sounded like it came mostly from his nose and almost like a laugh. “It’s not gonna make you sound like an Aylmerian, if that’s what you mean.” he half mumbled. Then he walked up to Michael’s side and clapped a hand on his shoulder, and set his empty mug down on the bar. “Congratulations, young man.” 

“Michael.” he supplied by way of introduction.

“Marksian.” the old man returned, despite Michael having long since gleaned that from eavesdropping. 

“I’m Leela.” the girl interjected. “Come on, Michael. Let’s get those rocks out of your hair?” she moved to one end of the bar and lifted the divider, and Michael followed the invitation. Marksian hung back, why Michael couldn’t begin to imagine because the moment they were through the door he never wanted to leave again. The stove was hot and for the first time since being ripped from the Achievement Hunter office Michael actually felt something like warm. 

“Ohmygod.” he mumbled. 

Leela smiled. “The kitchen’s nice, isn’t it?” she pulled a chair from somewhere, he was too distracted from the sudden pain in his extremities which he guessed was the result of being able to properly feel them again. “Have a seat.” Michael almost collapsed into the chair. Almost, he hoped he landed with some sort of dignity. He’d guess from Leela’s stifled giggle that he didn’t. 

“You know, it’s stupid.” he commented. “The shit you take for granted, and how fast you realize you were taking it for granted when you don’t have it. Like warmth.” 

“Mmhmm.” she agreed. 

“Or not having rocks in your fucking hair.” Michael listed, perhaps groggily. Maybe he should go upstairs and get some more sleep. He snapped his head back up so she’d be able to work. “...or knowing where the fuck everyone you love is...or where you are…” alright, he’d gotten to the point where he was talking too much. This was also the part where he was about to let a stranger very near his head with a sharp thing. He needed to focus on being at least alert enough to stop that from going badly. 

This wasn’t a normal concern during haircuts. Then again, he realized shortly after he heard the first snip behind his head, she’d poured his coffee without poisoning him so really there wasn’t a lot of reason for her to stab him in the neck. That didn’t make him feel much more relaxed, especially not as real heat started actually waking up his freezing muscles which began properly aching and he groaned a bit. “Take it easy.” Leela soothed. He heard the first thud and startled. “Just a stone from your hair.” he tried not to jump when her fingertips brushed his neck. A snap admonishment that he was married was on the tip of his tongue when he realized she was manipulating his hair in pretty necessary ways to keep it from looking like garbage when she was through with it. 

Fuck he was exhausted. Michael let himself zone out a little bit. Let himself play over everything that had happened so far. It was ridiculous. Honestly, it wasn’t getting less ridiculous. He killed a monster and found skeletons with loot. ...at least the skeletons hadn’t tried to kill him too. Fishermen brought him to town and he paid them in gold he found killing the monster. Overpaid them. Stayed the night in an inn with a drunk old man who got scolded for using magic by a bartender girl who was cutting the fucking rocks out of his hair from fighting the monster last night that had, yes, actually existed. 

What the fuck had his life become? Besides a bizarre quest to survive and find his idiot co-worker and friend and...just...fuck Gavin, really. He’d been Michael’s priority since he got here, and that wasn’t going to change. Every step, every fucking word he exchanged with anybody had to be toward finding Gavin. Because there was no way Gavin could survive just what Michael had been through here already, much less any more of it. It was a thought that was much too upsetting to have when he was this warm and this comfortable after such a hard day and night. 

Michael grumbled a little and Leela reassured gently “almost done.” It was a strange thing, the simultaneous sense of growing relaxation and the incessant danger alert his mind insisted on playing over just that relaxation. “I’ve gotten all the stones out.” she explained “I’m just evening things up a bit.” 

The haircut only lasted a couple moments longer, then she moved away, dusted off his shoulders, and pronounced “there” before walking over to the stove and pulling something from it. He only realized it was a little more than half a loaf of bread when she cut a large slice from it and began spreading something on it. Michael watched, blinking, trying to focus on his surroundings. She brought the bread over and handed it to him “cheese and pear preserves.” she explained as he took it, then “I thought I’d just feed you in here so the old man doesn’t get jealous.” 

“Thank you.” Michael answered. It wasn’t until after his first bite that he noticed he’d been fucking starving. Three bites, or two seconds, later, he thought to finish swallowing properly and ask “What is his story anyway, the old man?” 

“Marksian?” she clarified, then, as if that would explain everything “oh, he’s from Kelwhisper.” at Michael’s blank expression she continued while he went back to the food. “He fancies himself a soldier, probably from some Lord’s personal guard or something.” she paused, watching him, then said “Kelwhisper’s a border province, nearest Aylmer. Wheyla and Aylmer have...well, an unfriendly history, and the people of Kelwhisper seem bent on never forgetting it. Not that they’d ever say as much out loud, or say much of anything straightforward at all.” 

Michael didn’t end up responding to anything she actually said, as over the course of her explanation he became completely absorbed in his food. It wasn’t as sweet as he’d expected from the description, and the cheese was sort of tangy. He had no idea if he’d have liked it at all if he wasn’t so fucking hungry, as it was apparently he’d been through enough already to make anything taste delicious. So instead of responding to her answer to his own question, instead he asked another one “Is this goat cheese?” which he realized probably made him look like a fucking idiot, finally asking about the cheese with less than a bite left. It wasn’t a complaint though, and he finished the bread quickly as much to prove that point as anything.

“That’s right. Grayson’s Goat Cheese, Myrtle makes the preserves, and we bake our own bread here but the grain is from the temple downriver.” It was simple explanation, but Michael heard the familiar sounding pride of someone talking up their locally sourced menu. 

Michael nodded. “Not bad. Actually that was really good, thank you.” he was starting to be able to focus more, feeling warmer and clearer headed. No more stones in his hair or, apparently, cloudiness from hunger. Feeling much better he asked “So I guess we should get back out there?” a bit disappointed to move away from the source of heat. 

“Yeah, there should be a few people by for breakfast soon.” Leela sounded a bit too sad about that, and maybe it was a little cruel that her tone only prompted Michael to his feet faster. “What are you planning for today?” 

Michael hesitated. “I’m not sure yet.” he admitted, but he started walking toward the door. He was clearer headed, that didn’t mean he was any more certain whether he was seeing or imagining signals. A private conversation lasting longer than necessary wasn’t really the best response, and holding the door out to the rest of the bar for her instead of staying was his best step in expressing his lack of interest without being rude. Or maybe he was overthinking. It didn’t matter, he was married, less than twelve hours in and he already missed his wife enough to half-mistake strangers for her, and he’d been throwing a lot of money around a little town yesterday so being anything less then professional with anyone who even might be interested was a recipe for bad. The burst of cold from the main room sent a shiver through him and he thought to get to the point as they walked out. “...actually, I’m sort of looking for…” 

“Grayson!” Leela interrupted, sweeping past him. Michael turned his head to acknowledge the hard change of subject and follow her gaze as she moved up behind the bar. “Funny to see you this morning, I was just talking about you.” 

Michael slipped around toward the tables as a frantic-looking man standing over Marksian, who was seated not far from the bar, looked up. “Leelia. All good things I hope?” Before the girl could answer the pleasantry he pressed on “I was just asking Marksian if he wanted to earn some quick coin.” 

“And I was complaining about stupid questions.” Marksian grumbled. 

Grayson’s smile was the same patient indulgence as Leela’s had been, and Michael got the feeling that was how everyone handled the old man. There was impatience to it when he explained “Something put a hole in my barn. I need extra hands to repair it before one of my goats escape.” 

Marksian grumbled and got to his feet. Michael turned to face them and asked “how many extra hands?” If nothing else, it was something to do. It would earn goodwill, and put him more in the middle of things. The better off he was, the faster he could find the idiot that had probably gotten him here in the first place. 

Grayson looked up at Michael, glanced him up and down assessingly and commented “As many as I can get.” then he offered his hand and introduced “Grayson.” 

“Michael.” he answered, shaking the offered hand. “Your barn needs repairs?” 

“I have a board up for now, but the goats’ll knock that over in no time. I need proper repairs. Any experience?”

“Afraid not. Just offering extra hands.” It was an easy enough exchange, a rustic sort of formality. Part of Michael objected to the whole thing, demanding to know why he was being like this. The answer, that he’d fallen into instinctively, was that he needed help. He’d taken enough help from these people, some of it overpaid for, some paid the going rate but regardless. If he’d gleaned nothing else from his breakfast it was the distinct impression this community was insular, but accepting. The more Michael proved willing to contribute, the sooner he would be able to enlist aid to find Gavin. The sooner the better. 

Grayson nodded. “Come on then.” 

Leaving the tavern and getting a look at the village in full daylight was an experience. Snowdrifts piled high to clear stretches of ground that boasted small bonfires heating what looked at first to be foot high metal bars. The warm draft from the third one they passed made Michael abruptly realize they were hollow underneath, resting on wooden beams in inch-deep trenches. He tried not to stare at them too curiously.

Then they arrived, they had to have because there was a gaping hole in the corner of one of the buildings. A moment later Michael realized the scene around Grayson’s place was fucking gross. It might have been just artistically disturbing, except for the bits of hair and flesh that pockmarked the trail. A short way off a mangled goat carcass was strewn across the road, at the feet of a startled but familiar face.

“Grayson!” Sean exclaimed over a basket of what was probably fish. “What in SATZ happened? Where’s your wife?” 

“Safe in the house.” Grayson answered.

“You didn’t say any of your goats were killed.” Marksian interjected angrily.

“I didn’t want to scare Leela.” Grayson explained

“Michael.” Sean greeted, still surprised but with less volume “What…”

“Grayson said he needed extra hands. I volunteered.” Michael supplied.

Sean studied Michael a moment, then nodded approvingly. “I’ll leave the fish with Leela and come join you.” he offered. 

“You don’t have more deliveries today?” Grayson checked.

Sean shrugged. “The others can handle them.” 

Grayson smiled and thanked him and Sean moved on. The work they set to was difficult and Michael wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing but had the concept down well enough. Holding, securing, nailing, sealing. They fell into a rhythm pretty quickly and Marksian kept chanting softly, glowing red light around his hands as he worked. 

When Sean returned he dropped a large pack at Michael’s feet. “What’s this?” 

“Your sword and armor.” Sean answered. “That you came from the caves with. I assume you’re an adventurer?” Michael felt briefly unbalanced, then realized how much sense this made from an outside perspective.

A stranger with no, or at least vastly incompatible memories appears in a world with taverns, mountains, and monsters oh my, and is somehow drafted into saving if not the world then at least a part of it. They were story elements he knew well and he wasn’t sure how he felt about being so suddenly a narrative protagonist. ...it was also entirely possible that wasn’t what was happening at all and his video game addled brain was steering him wrong but that didn’t stop him from semi confidently answering “Just starting out.” 

“Would you charge to hunt down the monster that killed my friends goat?” Sean asked. His tone took on a hint of mischief when he added “I think I could round up about three gold for you as payment.” 

Grayson and Marksian startled, Grayson even going so far as to mumble “Sean, Gold?” reproachfully. 

 

Michael offered what he hoped was a warm smile. “Give me time to help Grayson finish up here and, maybe uh...maybe just the one instead?” 

Seans eyes widened, then narrowed as he caught what Michael meant. He didn’t smile when he offered his hand. “Deal.” Michael shook it, wishing there was a way he could be clear without saying it outright. He meant the first gold piece, rather than the one for each of them. Maybe he should’ve just accepted outright, or even offered to try for free. 

It wasn’t long before the wall was sufficiently repaired. It still looked like shit but it would do. Michael didn’t ache like this often, he didn’t work like this often. He felt frozen and overheated at the same time. Once they were done he stood back up to catch his breath. Grayson looked somber. “It won’t hold against an Ice Bear.

Sean reached out and put a hand on Grayson’s shoulder. “It doesn’t have to.” he assured. The way they both looked at Michael then made his heart drop into his stomach. He should never have agreed to this. The more he thought about it, looked at the damage to Grayson’s barn, the carnage left of the dead goat, that little desire to help he’d stoked for personal gain had gotten a little bit out of control and he was about to get himself fucking killed. 

Michael took a deep breath and then said “Tell you what though. That gold? I’ll uh...how ‘bout if I only collect if I fucking survive the process? Like I said, I’m just starting out, and it looks like this thing can do some damage…” he didn’t like the uncertainty in his voice. Didn’t like the frank way he spoke of the possibility of his own death. Or the simple understanding in the way Sean nodded in answer, instead of alarm or even the slightest hesitation.

“Alright, this is crazy.” Grayson interjected, a much more sane reaction in Michael’s opinion. “Sean, you’re either sending a man to his death or offering him gold you don’t have. Please think this through.” Grayson sounded desperate, sad. Michael felt bad for striking the deal. 

“I have the gold, Grayson.” Sean snapped. Grayson recoiled. Michael glanced between them, for the first time sensing actual animosity between them. “You’re a poor man, don’t assume the same of the rest of us.” Michael wasn’t sure if telling Grayson where Sean’s gold had come from would make things better or worse.

A beat later Marksian had his own interjection. “What if I accompanied you?” All eyes were on the old man, and he added “Don’t look at me like that, boy, I’ve traveled. These hands have done some combat spells. I specialize in warming, so I bet I could still muster an old fireball or two.” 

“Marksian I’m not paying extra for an old charlatan from Aylmer to pretend he’s helping our new friend!” Sean sounded, from an external perspective, kinda racist or something similiar. Michael kept quiet. He didn’t know what the issue there was. 

The old man looked more than a bit wounded too. “Kelwhisper.” he mumbled softly.

No one responded to that for a moment, so Michael turned to him after a moment. “Sorry, what?” 

 

“I’m from Kelwhisper.” Marksian said, voice hard. “Wheyla born and raised, the same as you!” his voice raised to a sudden pitch and Michael began to regret checking in on him. “I’ve killed men for less, Sean! If Coleman hadn’t been so good to me over the years…” 

“Leave coleman out of this, you know he despises you.” Sean stepped in suddenly toward Marksian. Grayson scrambled backwards. Michael felt a sudden weight of the situation sink on him. He was sorely tempted to do the same as Grayson. It was hardly his responsibility. The problem was one of these men was respected in this community and the other knew magic. AS far as he knew so far he needed them if he wanted any hope of getting enough support to have a prayer of finding his own ass much less Gavin.

It was with a heavy sigh Michael stepped between the two of them. “Sean. I’d appreciate Marksian’s help. I won’t charge extra. If he wants the money he can have it.” better not to call the asshole out when he’s paying you to go get yourself killed when you’re trying to talk him into letting you take someone he hates to watch your back. It’d gotten ridiculous a long time ago. 

After a long moment Sean nodded. “Alright. ...Alright, actually, I’ll go with both of you.” 

“Unarmed?” Marksian asked.

“I have my dagger.” 

Michael put the armor back on, strapped the sword onto his hip. They got moving, and it wasn’t until then Michael noticed. Marksian was kind of a badass. Like, he was really hauling ass, especially once they found tracks. Sean seemed to radiate a quiet sort of rage that made Michael almost completely stop trusting him. Not that he ever really did. Sean and Marksian didn’t like each other, and Michael didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. Something about the lack of real indoor plumbing and analog entertainment technology made Michael expect the worst and best of everyone here. That life was hard, that people were strong, and insular. It was a lot of, probably unfounded, assumptions he still felt safe in. 

Michael was almost surprised how quickly he’d stopped being a little bitch even in his own head. The subtle personal drama between Sean and Marksian or the fact that the distance between the prints was growing so they had to be more vigilant for turns were important. Things like his own body feeling half frozen or the chill down the back of his now unprotected neck. Michael kept up. 

At one point, Marksian reached for him. An almost surprisingly strong grip at his elbow. “May I see your sword?” 

Michael looked up, surprised. He shifted slightly and showed the sword at his waist to the old man. “Yeah?” 

“...Rusty...Ancient...Not yours.” Marksian looked at him. “Do you trust me to spell it for you?” 

“Marksian…” Michael began, then he sighed. “I’m running off to kill a wild animal, with no experience, and my only backup hates each other. It’s not a matter of trusting you. It’s a matter of I’ll take whatever help I can get.” 

Marksian studied Michael for a moment, then asked “Why are you doing this? Going about in yesterday’s clothes to help a stranger. Haggling down the payment to risk your own life, and sharing that with an old vagabond like me. There’s good and then there is selfless.” 

Michael scoffed. “I’m not selfless.” Or was he? When was the last time he’d spared half a thought for anyone who wasn’t Gavin? Still, it’s not like he was doing shit just to be a good neighbor to the cute little mountain village or whatever the fuck he hoped he was protecting. “I have my reasons.” 

“You’re a strange man, Michael.” Marksian answered. “A good one, I think, but mostly strange.” 

Michael couldn’t help but smile, and Marksian reached out to hover his hand over the blade. The same read light from earlier surrounded his hand and the blade for several moments, pulsing twice before the old man leaned heavily against Michael. Michael caught him with an arm at the waist. “...Take it easy. Don’t wear yourself out before we even find this thing.” 

The old man took a few deep breaths that were a little too raspy for Michael’s comfort as he clung to him. “Thank you.” 

Michael helped steady him and then turned his attention back to the blade, which was hardly recognizable as the same sword he’d picked up in the cave. Hardly a sign of rust remained. It looked good as new, if not like an actually brand new blade. After a long beat, Michael asked “...look...this might be a stupid question but...how strong are you? Magically? I mean. Is this as good as it looks? And...can anybody who does magic do this or are you just…” 

Marksian chuckled. “Asking an old soldier to pat himself on the back for his support skills? I wouldn’t say it’s my best work but I’ve had a long day.” 

Part of Michael wanted to fume for the technically avoided question, another part wanted to just admire the magical craftsmanship and was eager to test it. If there was one big flaw living a scenario like this had over experiencing it in a video game, it was the inability to check your weapon stats. Well, that and your entire body turning into one giant ache. So instead of letting his temper get the best of him, for once, Michael responded graciously. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Marksian replied. He paused a moment, then added. “I could do more, if you like. The sword is still old, however refreshed. And still quite aware it does not belong to you.” 

“It’s aware it doesn’t belong to me?” Michael asked, somewhere between dubious and concerned. “It’s...a sword. What, are swords…” he didn’t want to ask out loud.

Marksian made a sound that was just shy of a laugh. “Nothing so literal.” he answered, anticipating the last of the question. “But if the energy and will of Timur or even Tist if you’re so inclined that runs through it does not recognize you, the blade may turn on you.” then he laughed to himself. “Listen to me, that stay in Natton did a number on how I look at the world I suppose. Just a superstitious old man.” 

“Magic is real, I’m not sure what to chalk up to superstition anymore.” Michael admitted, and Marksian laughed. Then he reached out toward where Michael’s hand covered the hilt of the sword, and his own hand glowed red again for a moment. Once more it pulsed twice. Michael wasn’t sure what he expected the magic to feel like, but the indescribable sensation that crawled up his arm and settled in his heart wasn’t it. He smiled hesitantly at the old man and nodded again, suddenly not quite able to find words.

Marksian returned the nod and pulled a little ahead of him, leaving Michael to wonder exactly what the fuck the old man had done. Really that could have been a fucking dumb move for all he knew. When had he gotten so trusting? Oh yeah, when he’d gotten completely dependant on the mercy of strangers for survival. To get a toehold to find Gavin. 

They came around a curve of the mountain, and Michael’s breath caught. It couldn’t be more than a football field away, albeit with a sharp cliff face between him and it. Despite being a couple dozen feet above, Michael couldn’t mistake its size. It’s...majesty. This fucking thing ruled these mountains, and just let humans live here as a fucking courtesy. A thousand pounds, easy, Michael’s head probably came to its shoulder when it stood on all fours. The fur was white, not like polar bear white where it’s actually clear and just happens to be surrounded by snow, but real white, put the snow around it to shame white. It was fucking beautiful and, for a second, Michael regretted agreeing to kill it. 

“Well, young adventurer?” Sean asked. Michael couldn’t tell if he actually sounded mocking or if it was just his imagination after deciding Sean was an asshole. “Any ideas?” 

Michael was opening his mouth to answer. He wasn’t sure what he was gonna say, something smartass probably. That was when he saw it. The way the bear shifted, shuffling around, shaking its head. It was confused. Michael couldn’t see any injuries on it, but he knew a thing or two about how wounded animals behaved. Something had fucked up that animal, and it was a shot of painful relief to realize. “Look at it.” he finally breathed aloud. “Fucker didn’t attack the goats out of malice. It’s hurt. ...we’ve gotta put it out of it’s misery.” 

“That’s not a new idea.” Sean dismissed, voice just shy of a shout. “That’s what we’re here for in the first place, Michael!” Michael knew that tone well. He use to take it often, but he hadn’t sounded like that in years. Sean was about to lose his temper in what promised from the set of his jaw and suddenly wider stance to be a big way. Fuck that. Two could play at that. 

It was a little disturbing how easily Michaels hand went to his sword as he shouted “There’s a difference between ‘hey, let’s go slay the nasty goat-killer monster fucker DaDa Dadada Dada Who woo!’ and “that poor animal got its shit fucked by something lets finish the job so it doesn’t have to fucking suffer anymore.’ maybe fishermen don’t know this because fish are dumb, but most animals act different when they’re wounded. So yeah I have some ideas. How about not scaring it more than we have to and giving it some goddamn peace and dignity somehow?” 

Michael hadn’t thought it was possible for Sean’s beady little eyes to get any narrower, but narrow them he did. “I don’t like what it says about you that you can empathize with a monster.” 

“Well I don’t like what it says about you that you can’t.” it was a thoughtless retort, no real philosophy in it, only heat. It half struck Michael a moment later that Sean was pushing buttons he’d forgotten he had, if he’d ever known. He only remembered to take in the next icy cold breath before speaking again thanks to years behind a mic. “...so shut the fuck up, and let me figure it out.” He breathed again, then asked “Marksian? You good? You didn’t fucking kill yourself fixing my sword, did you?” 

“Thank you for your concern.” The amusement in Marksians voice made Michael want to slap him a little, but in a more lighthearted way than how he felt about Sean right now. “I’m fine.” 

“Fine?” Michael echoed “Doing well enough to help Sean set a trap? At least slow it down enough for me to come down on it from above?” 

Marksian nodded, and Sean demanded “and how are we luring it into this trap?” 

Michael was surprised by how naturally the thought occurred to him. He pointed down the line of the path by the cliff, where it curved down to a path. “That’s gonna be it’s only way up here.” he commented. “If I piss it off enough from here, it’s gonna have to go by you over there to get to me.” 

“Not bad.” Marksian praised. 

Sean nodded. “C’mon old man.” he called, walking ahead. Marksian shrugged and followed and Michael waited. He watched them quietly from a distance. He watched the bear too. It seemed to only grow more distressed. Hungry, Michael realized. It was starving. One goat couldn’t feed it. Confused and sad and… he looked away, watched the guys instead. 

By the time Michael watched them complete the trap, he could feel the cold sinking into his bones again. Michael paced a little, gathering stones where he could, making snowballs, watching the guys and trying not to think too hard about all this. It felt like hours but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before Marksian gave him a signal. 

Michael shut off his brain, and his survival instinct, basically manually. A deep breath later and he was throwing things and screaming at the massive monster. Sure enough, he drew its attention. That was about the extent of things going right.

Turns out, he’d underestimated the ice bear’s climbing capacity. Instead of darting along the path, it started straight up the only slightly inclined cliff face. Michael barley had time to process what was happening before it got way too close. He had to trust the others to give him backup if he improvised. Here, improvising was getting the wall on the other side of the path out from behind him by rushing down at the monster. Sliding more than a little.

He didn’t even notice he’d drawn his sword until it was in his hand. The Ice Bear rushing at him, him sliding full speed toward it. It was like a bizarre form of jousting. Michael had almost no control, just enough to take aim as sharp teeth came uncomfortably close. Resistance, than none as the sword pierced the beast who responded with a roar that Michael feared would leave him deaf. Michael yanked on the sword, down and back, doing more damage and withdrawing the blade. Then over a hundred pounds of weight from the monster’s head and neck alone came crashing on his torso and all went still. 

For a moment, Michael thought it was dead. The blood was coming from just under its foreleg and Michael wondered if he’d gotten the heart. A quick bleed, the snow underneath them was quickly turning crimson. Then the ice bear growled and something inside Michael broke. 

He wasn’t crying when he reached out to stroke the white fur between its ears. He spoke around a hard lump in his throat “It’s okay. I’m sorry.” he half expected his hand to be bitten off. Instead the monster seemed to relax into him and Michael couldn’t breathe. As much because of the several hundred pounds of bear on his chest and legs as because of the way it looked at him. Terror and pain and confusion giving way to exhaustion in a way that was a little too familiar. He continued stroking it’s head gently as its eyes closed. 

The angle Michael was lying at was nearly vertical. He wasn’t sure how or if he could get up. He decided he’d wait until he could tell the bear was gone then call for help. Until then he dropped his hand and let himself give to a similar sense of exhaustion. The overwhelming impression this could have gone either way slowly sinking in. How many times could a man face the reality of his own mortality before he lost his mind? Douglas Adams jokes aside, Michael was beginning to suspect he was about to hit that number when the beast stirred.

The pained roar was sudden, and completely unexpected to Michael whose eyes snapped open as he scrambled for his sword. Looking up he saw the cause. A knife had embedded itself in the beast’s neck, presumably after being thrown. In a single instant of terror, Michael realized he’d dropped his sword too far away to strike again. It’d fallen just out of reach from this angle.  
By the next moment the fear had ebbed, replaced by the ironic realization that Sean had killed him. Murder Weapon: Ice Bear. 

Marksian’s voice interrupted the strange moment of acceptance with shouts, and something sizzled nearby. A glance up as the bear became distracted from the target underneath it showed him exactly what was happening. The old man was fucking...throwing fucking fireballs. He’d said he might be able to but hearing that and seeing literal balls of fire zip overhead were two very different things. Either way, the bear climbed off of him and began rushing the sorcerer, dripping blood the whole way. 

Michael moved slower than he would have liked, checking that nothing was broken from being laid on and sliding down more to get his sword. His clothes were soaked through, every single layer. He was starting to shiver, and began to fear shock. By the time he was on his feet at the bottom of the cliff face, he was able to look up just in time to lock eyes with the old man before he saw the ice bear ram full speed into Marksian. It was too far away to know for sure, but Michael didn’t see even a hint of fear from Marksian as man and bear together slid and fell into the river. 

He ran forward, not sure why. Not sure what he was hoping. He just ran toward the river, foot eventually catching on snow and sending Michael to hands and knees. A lump sat in his throat that he breathed slowly around. Fuck. There were no words. 

Then Sean had the fucking gall to walk up to him. “Are you…” Michael cut him off by spinning to his feet and throwing a punch. It connected. “What...the SATZ?” Michael half wished he knew what that meant, probably whatever they thought hell was. Sean said it a lot though. 

“I was fucking fine!” Michael screamed “I was fine and now Marksian’s...why are you here instead of checking the river?!” 

“I saw him get swept downstream!” Sean answered defensively “Even if he survived the bite he’s not gonna make it long and we’re not equipped to fish him out!” 

“Says the fucking fisherman.” it wasn’t a rational response. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe you just let...I HAD it!” 

“Michael calm down.” Sean warned through his teeth. 

Michael threw another punch instead. Sean caught it and hit Michael in the gut. Michael doubled over, breathless, but not to be outdone, rammed Sean in the torso with his shoulder. Sean went down, Michael over him. Michael pushed back up and as Sean went to do likewise, Michael put the sword to his throat. “I HAD it, Sean! What the fuck?” 

“What, was I not suppose to try?” Sean demanded. “Michael, Marksian was just an old drunk…” 

It’d never been more tempting to kill someone in cold blood. He’d never properly had the chance but Michael hadn’t expected to want it so badly. He jabbed his sword in harder against Sean’s jugular and hissed “just give me the coins. Yes, coins, both of them, I want yours back too.” Sean hesitated, and Michael snapped “now!” every ounce of his self control not going to slitting the other mans throat.

Sean went for his pouch, produced two gold coins and handed them back to Michael. Michael took them, shoved them back into his own soaked-through pouch, and walked away. His back was turned when he heard Sean yell after him. “Stay the fuck out of our village!” 

“Why?” Michael called over his shoulder “so I don’t tell everyone how you murdered Marksian?” he got no reply, and just kept walking downstream. Walking, jogging, half running, walking again. Rushing alongside the river not quite keeping pace with it for the better part of the day. Half convinced he’d die at the end of hypothermia. The risk was greater if he didn’t keep moving, get his body temperature up. The moisture from the water, the breeze bouncing off it, only made him colder. 

But, as returned to focus in his mind fairly quickly, water led to civilization. Gavin was drawn to civilization. Follow the water, find Gavin. Much too simplistic approach but now that he’d blown his chance at getting any kind of help it was all he had to go on. 

So when a building came into view, and Michael kept rushing downhill toward it. Figures came into view, a large crowd gathered near the river. One person hanging back. Despite the strange robes, Michael would know that figure anywhere. 

Michael stopped completely dead in his tracks. Because there he was. 

“What the FUCK Gavin?!”


	5. The Temple

Gavin crumpled at the first hint of the sound. Terrifying and somehow familiar it tested the boundaries of his sense of reality. Watching Michael vanish came with the white-hot horror from his gut through his whole being that snapped into grief stricken sobs and screams of Michael's name when he was gone. Then the world clipped out of his vision and senses and was replaced with an icy breeze that blew away the last traces of the sound from his mind. Shortly after came the realization that he was kneeling in at least six inches of snow. Gavin jumped to his feet, screeching.

The wind rushed down the frozen mountainside and chilled Gavin to the bone. Gavin's cries abated as he turned his back to the wind. The building that had come into view was expansive and warm-looking, snow somehow cleared from what looked like farmland stretched out behind it. Gavin got snow in his shoes running to it and was shivering hard as he pounded on the door. Once opened, a burst of warmth struck Gavin from behind it. The man there was more than a head shorter than Gavin and just as slender. “Good Day, young man.” the greeting was monotone, dull; and completely ill-fitting for the look achieved by the spiked ginger mohawk and nearly glowing blue eyes. “Are you a guest of Rossstew and their children?”

“Well, I can't say they're expecting me, exactly.”

The man laughed, strange and flat like his voice. “Come in and be welcomed. Come in from the cold. I'm Guardian Father Roweve Nariglon.” the name was a bit of a mouthful, and the man seemed aware of it. He stood aside as Gavin walked in and as the door shut behind him the man clarified “That's Guardian Nariglon or Father Roweve, depending on if you'd rather be formal or not.” the words were accompanied by a pat on the back that changed Father Roweve's posture very suddenly. “You're cold, child. Come. We must find a place for you.” he began walking down the hallway, away from the large stone fireplace right here in the entryway that had already stopped his shivering. “Tell me.” asked the Guardian Father. “Have you come to the service of Jamoc, Irlock, or perhaps the unity of them, their creator Rossstew?”

“Service?” Gavin echoed, uncertain. This was a church. The Monotone of Father Roweve's voice set Gavin's stomach rolling and contrasted with the way he leaned into the friendly and more importantly warm touch across his back.

“Worship, Follow, Believe in.” Roweve ticked off in that same flat voice of his. “Or ask the favor of...”

Gavin considered a moment, then realized the answer was in the question. “Well, I'm usually a big fan of unity...so...”

“Jamoc then.” Gavin wasn't sure how Roweve had gotten there, but the names meant nothing to him so it was easy enough to just roll with it for now. “Excellent. Most coming through here seek to join the ranks of Irlock's Warriors. Good to see a scrap like you has some sense!” Just then, a slight uptick to the monotone. Anger? Or was he pleased?

They took a left turn when the hall intersected another and Gavin found himself in what was clearly a sanctuary. The seating was rows of pews facing a wood-carved alter in front of an even larger stone fireplace that kept the room just this side of toasty. The symbol carved into the alter was a pair of clasped hands. Lovely.

“Sit. Pray. Or Wait. I'll have the Sisters come for you.” and with that Roweve walked past the alter and through the archway behind. Apparently there was a door deep in the archway, because Gavin heard it shut. Suddenly Gavin was alone.

When he exhaled it was the release of too many emotions to have held and Gavin found himself shaking again. Where was he? How had he gotten here? Where was Michael? The questions were overwhelming and unanswerable. The only way through this was to act like it was a game. Ride along with whatever was thrown at him. This Jamoc was obviously a god of some sort, Unity, if Gavin had to guess. Michael might fit in well under Irlock if Gavin had that right. His head spun with possibilities and the nagging questions. The worst of which, was Michael even alive? He did his best to use what reason he could to assure himself. Michael was alive, and Michael would find this church.

“Good afternoon, child.” A heavyset woman interrupted his thoughts, and Gavin startled. “Welcome to the temple of Rossstew and their daughter Jamoc. What brings you to us?”

So it was a temple then, and Jamoc was ...a goddess? He tried to focus on sorting details and not how the question set the memory of that sound tearing through his mind. He whined and folded down on himself mumbling “...something horrible...” before regretting his display of weakness and scrambling for full powers of speech. “I...I'm not sure, actually. One Minute I was...” he struggled to describe it, finally settling on “At Home....and the next I was right outside the temple.”

“Brought by the gods...” breathed a younger and thinner woman beside the first. Though if the way her blue belt clinched her tan robes, she was every bit as curvy.

“We don't know that, Sister Helen.” the first woman answered, perhaps a bit harshly. “Anything could have brought him.” her tone was dark and hard and Gavin recoiled. She studied him a long time, Gavin's heart hammering under the sudden, almost intrusive visual inspection. She didn't soften, though her words were kind. “Jamoc is welcoming though, even of Alymerians and Northerners.” her tone went from hard to bitter and Gavin winced. She turned to the girls behind her, of whom there were three more besides the one who had spoken. “Doesn't he sound like a Northerner?”

“Northern Wheyla, perhaps.” one of the girls spoke up. Her voice suited her kind looking face, the first of its kind. Her hair was the same natural but bright red color as Roweve's. “Not North-North. They sound more...polished.” The way she spoke, a certain rough musicality. Gavin found himself watching her, trying to decide if her resemblance was real or imagined from sudden homesickness.

“Sister Rebecca.” the woman responded. “I forget how...well traveled...you are.” Gavin felt his hackles go up at how the bigger woman pronounced her words. He tried not to glare and instead gave the sister a sympathetic glance.

“Guardian Mother.” Sister Rebecca spoke again. “I've asked that you call me Becca. If that's too worldly for you then Guardian Sister Nariglon will do.”

“Nariglon?” Gavin echoed, interjecting while he could. “As in Guardian Father Roweve Nariglon?”

“My Father.” Becca explained. Then, awkwardly “...as in. Biologically. He was only a Guardian Brother when I was born.”

“Fair Play.” Gavin answered. “Wouldn't have thought him old enough to have a grown daughter, but I can see the resemblance.”

”Well.” the Guardian Mother interrupted “since the two of you are hitting it off so well, I'll leave Sister Becca in charge of showing you around.” and with that she turned on her heal and walked off. The woman with the bob followed naturally, and the other two hesitated before following as well.

“I''m sorry about Guardian Mother.” Becca said once they'd cleared out. “She...drinks cows milk.” It was said with some distaste, and Gavin realized it had to be some sort of cultural reference he didn't understand.

“Will you think I'm dumb if I admit I don't know what that means?” Gavin asked.

“No.” Becca answered quickly “but I will think you're not from Wheyla.”

“That's accurate.” Gavin answered.

“Central Capitol is the only playce in Wheyla with Cows. Beef is historically a favorite of the Kings. ...anywhere else we drink regular, er, goats milk...so in Wheyla the idea of Cows Milk is practically synonymous with...” she struggled for a phrase.

Gavin supplied one that might have been more harsh then she was intending. “Xenophobic Snobbery?”

The Guardian Sister gaffawed and shook her head, laughing. It was a musical sort of laugh. Bubbling and lovely. Gavin smiled widely when she defended “Nothing so horrible! ...but. Yes.” then she sobered while Gavin was still grinning. “You're looking at me strangely.”

“You remind me of someone.” Gavin answered simply. Then added “I have a girl at home and...”

“Say no more.” Becca interrupted. “I remind every man that comes through here of their girl back home. So I'll be clear up front, however appealing or otherwise I might find you, I won't be taking her place while you're away.”

Gavin snorted, wishing he didn't believe that something so ridiculous happened to her all the time.”I wouldn't dream of it. ...well, I might dream of it but...” She swatted, playfully he hoped, at his arm and he ducked away from her, laughing. She was laughing too until he explained “no it just...made me homesick faster than usual.”

“Faster than usual?”

“You might also call me well-traveled.” Gavin answered. “Wheyla is new though.”

“What do you do?” Becca asked “Your Occupation?”

Gavin hesitated, unsure how to explain what he did exactly. Finally he settled on “Comedic Journalism.”

“You're a bard then.” Becca answered.

“Not quite.” Gavin was surprised, blinking and trying to put that together. “I suppose so. I uh, I've been separated from the rest of my troop. I'm hoping they'll meet me here. Where's the next nearest place that might draw bards?”

“This is it.” Becca confirmed. “Nothing in any direction from here but poor provincial villages and monster-filled mountains and woodlands in any direction for miles.”

Gavin felt a chill go through him, then said “Well...assuming he survives the monsters I should be being joined by at least one...uh, fellow bard, one of my friends, any time now really.”

“Well then while I show you around I should also tell the Guardian Father to expect another guest. As is it, are you ready to start your tour?”

“I am.”

The tour was fun, and Becca was good company. Gavin eventually introduced himself properly, feeling a bit like an ass for not getting to that sooner. Becca showed him how the farmland out back was maintained. With magic, it turned out. Or maybe a sort of magitech. A waterfall from the mountains fed an underground spring that made for easy irrigation. Hot steel was used to keep the chill off vulnerable plants. Becca performed a small heating spell to maintain the heat of the metal, and shortly after some sort of gathering spell on a berry bush.

They wandered out to the end of the territory, where the underground spring resurfaced. “Welcome to the headwaters of Maya River.” Becca grinned. She settled onto the grass, and continued explaining “Runs West to East across all of Wheyla. Through Coleco. That's our southernmost Provence.”

“So we're in south Wheyla? But the Guardian Mother thought I was from the north.”

“You're built like a man from the northern wilds.” Becca observed, watching Gavin seat himself. “If I had to guess I'd say you're a good runner?” Gavin nodded and Becca continued “The people north of Wheyla don't believe in our gods. So as Reverend Mother of Rossstew, she hates them for daring to have a civilization without answering to her deity.”

“Well that's a bit silly.”

“Rossstew is the deity of civilization.” Becca explained. “So you can see how it's a bit offensive to her sensibilities that a civilization can flourish without their blessing.”

“And to yours?”

Becca shrugged. “Not everyone believes in the gods. But if you apply the concept of them to daily life, there's no reason for them to withhold blessing.”

“Do you?” Gavin asked. “Believe in them, I mean.”

“You mean am I a heratic?” Becca asked, laughter bubbling up again. “That's a silly question to ask a Guardian of Civilization in the heart of Wheyla, Gavin. I'm completely devoted to the goddess of cooperation, after ten years traveling, adventuring, exploring, I came home to my father at the temple and devoted my life to Jamoc. What does that tell you?”

“That you apply the concept of cooperation to your daily life.” Gavin answered.

Becca's laughter died, and her smile strained. “You're good.” she praised, in a tone that more than answered Gavin's question.  
They ate berries for a while then. Becca told the creation story of Wheyla. How Ysillu created the earth, how none of her children had gender, but their children were created in the image of man and therefore mostly did. With a few somewhat notable exceptions. Becca didn't note them.

Gavin enjoyed listening to her, enjoyed the sweet berries and the view from the headwaters. It would be a good day, if not for the lingering terror of his situation. The pit of worry in his gut for Michael. The fact that he technically didn't belong in this world quickly faded away in Becca's company. Eventually she led him back to the house, showing him his assigned quarters in a hall assigned to Initiates of Jamoc. Quarters were separated by deity, Jamoc and Irlock in opposite wings; and by level. Initiate, Worker, Guardian Brother or Sister, and each wing had only one Guardian Father and Mother apiece. Then they returned to the main hall for dinner.

The food itself was heavy, a stew of root vegetables and some sort of gamey meat. It was served with dark Rye bread. The Initiates weren't separated by god here, and the Initiates of Irlock were quite the bunch. Loud and intense and honestly Michael would fit right in. Gavin was excited to have him back, to see him again. ...To confirm he was still real. That whatever had brought Gavin here hadn't killed Michael outright. He found himself scanning the initiates for his friend, and hoping deep in his being that he was already here.

He wasn't.

Dinner was followed by evening services. Father and Sister Noriglon sat on either side of Gavin. The former of the two was clearly annoyed at the Guardian Mother, and said something about restoring Gavin's honor as a guest. Becca assured her father that Gavin didn't mind being treated as an Initiate. She wasn't wrong, but Gavin couldn't help but wonder where she got that.

Prayers being said, for family, for friends, letters from loved ones offered in supplication. The service was strangely emotional for Gavin. Especially when the prayers circled around to his seat and beside him, Roweve spoke in that flat flat voice of his asking Jamoc for “Gavin to be welcomed here by all, and to feel the spirit of our welcome, in your name.”

The distinct sensation that it was his turn half overwhelmed Gavin. The intense sense of just...being listened to. Like being offered a hand, to help. His throat caught and all that came out was a choked name. “Michael.” Without a doubt it was a prayer. To whom? Gavin decided to address the same goddess as the others. “...I...please...Jamoc, please, just. Help Michael to find me. ...and if not, please keep him safe.”

Gavin's voice broke. He was unused to praying to anyone or anything. It was a surprise when Becca took over and addressed her words “Spirit of Cooperation, be with Michael. Guide his choices and lead him here to Gavin, who needs him.” Gavin laughed out loud at the idea of Michael being guided by a spirit of cooperation. Roweve reached out and gripped his shoulder tight and the moment passed as suddenly as it had come. Gavin felt like a massive fool.

After the service though he knew the moment needed acknowledgment, and offered them to both. “Thank you for praying for me. ...and for Michael.”

“He obviously means a lot to you.” Something in Becca's voice was different. Bent away from him, in some sense. Gavin wasn't sure why. When she added “I hope you're reunited.” Gavin understood.

“You know I wasn't lying.” he insisted. “I do have a girl back home. Her name's Meg Turney and she's...” he trailed off. Then “Michael's just a friend.”

“You were moved in service to ask for him.” Becca argued. “He's obviously more than a friend.”

Gavin stumbled a moment, then “well, yes, but not like that. He's my best friend! We've...I've known him longer and I...Becca please listen I watched Michael vanish before my eyes. I'm terrified for him, that's all.”

Becca stood, judging him. Her eyes seemed to burn again like, he realized, they had all day. For the first time he wondered if they were really brown as he'd assumed or actually as red as her hair. “You love him?”

Gavin exhaled hard. “Not like I love Turney. ...but yes. I just...I don't want you to feel mislead. I'm not...I don't prefer men. That has nothing to do with it.”

Becca took a breath and nodded. “I understand.” she said, but it was clear she didn't.

Gavin had to stay in initiate quarters that night. Alone in a row of bunk beds, he could almost hear the river rushing past as he dropped off to sleep. In the morning Gavin was woken by Bugle and shuffled into the dining area, where they served porridge. Hot buckwheat with strangely fatty milk, Buffalo, he later discovered, and honey. He was then shuffled out onto the practice yard with the initiates of Irlock, and was only just beginning to worry when a young man with a flattop hairstyle and eyes as unsettling as the Guardian Father's rushed out and called “What is our guest doing with your initiates?” The voice was slow and drawling and Gavin felt his hair stand on end from the sound of it.

The androgynous looking curvy man who had been calling the starting positions for drills paused a moment, then “Apologies, Guardian Brother Cark. I didn't realize...you there!”

Gavin rushed over to the pair, and was hurried away by the interrupting Guardian. "Thank you, Brother..." he trailed off, unable to recall the blond man's first name.

"Ipestew" Guardian Brother Cark answered. "Please refrain though, and call me Guardian Cark."

The naming conventions in this place had been fast enough to get use to. The genderless title, Guardian, came before a last name, and the gendered title before a first name, unless one wished to distinguish an exact person without losing formality. Gavin was almost surprised how quickly he'd adopted it. "Sorry. Guardian Cark." Gavin corrected himself. "Thank you."

They passed Becca in the hall, she hardly acknowledged him and something in Gavin ached. He shouldn't have gotten attached, especially not so quickly. Guardian Cark escorted Gavin to a whole grove of trees that were full of white flowers, and instructed to prune. Not entirely knowing what he was doing, Gavin found himself just watching Guardian Cark and trying to do as he saw done.

A short ways in, he attempted conversation. “So, there seems to be some confusion as to whether I'm an initiate or a guest.”

“Guests are rare.” Guardian Cark answered, voice leaving Gavin chilled. “It's an honor the Guardian Mother would rather not give a Northerner. If you're an initiate, you're pledging to our ways and no threat to us.” his eyes seemed to gleam. “Personally, I'm more adventuresome than Mother Lattice. I feel it's more in the spirit of service to Jamoc to have a guest then to press a stranger into that same service.”

“Thus the debate.” Gavin tried.

“Yes.”

Silence fell, and they worked companionably for a while longer until they were called in for a lunch of rye bread and goat cheese, and a selection of preserves. Gavin ate well and was approached by Sister Helen after. “Can you help tend the garden this afternoon?”

Helping tend the garden, it turned out, involved wearing thick mittens those steel half pipes while others weeded and watered efficiently. The garden, it turned out, was also the better part of a city block. Soon Gavin was sore and exhausted and wanted to try something else.

“Can anyone do magic?” he asked after a moment.

“These spells?” Sister Helen asked.”We learn them as children.”

“Can I try?” Gavin asked.

It was embarrassing how easily the slight woman held the long steel bar aloft as she changed places with him. “Do you remember the incantation?”

Gavin pressed his palm flat on the steel, and spoke the words he'd heard Sister Helen say dozens of times in less than an hour of work. Nothing happened. He tried again.

“You have to focus.” Helen instructed. “Feel the warmth in your body and push it outward.”

Gavin obeyed, spoke the incarnation, and felt the results instantly. The results were the warmth leaving his body and sending him, shivering, into the fetal position on the ground. Nothing was warm, or at least Gavin couldn't feel anything warm. He drew in deep breaths, fearing that ice may grow on his lungs. Helen set the half pipe over the plans as though it had worked, then took a good look at Gavin.

She promptly shed her top layer,a thick sort of shawl, and wrapped it around his shoulders. “Easy. Easy, Gavin...” she reassured gently. “You overdid. Let's get you by the fire.”

Walking was a challenge. He felt like his legs might snap from the cold. He kept more of his weight on the Guardian Sister than he might have liked. Being near the heat of the fire hurt as his suddenly contracted muscles slowly expanded. The pain, the cold, the warmth he leached from nearby. Gavin wasn't long for consciousness.

When he woke he realized he'd been left on a rug in front of the fire.

He blinked a few times before sitting up, looking around curiously. Just in the main hall, they hadn't brought him in too far. For a second, Gavin was offended. He wasn't so heavy! Then he realized they probably didn't have anywhere else to put him. Initiates quarters wasn't the best place, especially not if he'd needed medical attention.

Lesson Learned. Spellcasting was a no go. He still felt a bit lightheaded and laid back down a while in peace. Thoughts rushed into his head. The question of why it felt so natural to wake up here. Not once had he had a moment where he expected to wake up at home. The more pressing question of what had happened to Michael. Becca's belief he was gay and why that bothered him so much. All the information he had about the place. Names of gods and provinces and rivers, it was too many things to remember. Yet it felt somehow, in this quiet place curled up in front of the fire, it felt right to know them. Like they were from a game he'd played a hundred times, or a movie he'd seen almost as often. Something he would properly learn without even meaning to. He would too. It felt like his head had expanded as all the thoughts crowded in there. So he took a long breath and did his best to think of nothing.

With only marginal success, Gavin was startled out of his almost meditative state by a scream. Somewhere outside. Gavin sprang to his feet and rushed out the doors. The scream, it turned out, came from near the river. Gavin quickly saw the reason as he approached. It was late. The sun had set, although the light was not totally gone from the sky. Gavin stood back, staring.

A pair of corpses, one human one animal, were draped over the rocks where the river bent and began flowing underground. The brothers and sisters were working to pull the bodies from river, and Roweve was comforting the Guardian Sister who had found them. It was an unnerving sight, to say the least. He thought about going back to the house and pretending he'd seen none of this. A faint sense of fear kept him there. He wanted to see the human body. Not out of morbid curiosity either, just. To know. One way or another.

There was every chance it was...

“Gavin?”

The familiar voice behind him dissolved all his fear in an instant.


	6. Fuckin Gavin

“Michael, my boi!” Gavin turned and ran directly at him. Which was way more faith than Michael thought his voice was distinct enough to merit.

Even though he saw Gavin coming, Michael was not ready for the near flying leap of a hug Gavin greeted him with. His legs gave out from under him on impact. He didn’t mind in the slightest, doing his best to catch Gavin anyway and hugging him tightly. “Gav. Gavin, you're alive.” a bit obvious, but as many near misses as he’d had and his faith in his friend had started wearing thin. 

“I'm alive, you're alive!” Gavin argued, clinging a bit tighter for a moment. For some reason it hadn’t registered until right that moment that Gavin would be worried about him too. Really he hadn’t thought about much but finding Gavin. “Disappeared right out reality! We both did I suppose.”

They both had. Whatever that sound had been had snatched them up and… the thought was only half formed when the question tumbled out of his mouth. “Do you have any idea what happened to Geoff and Ryan?”

Gavin looked stunned. He let go, slowly disentangling himself from the pretzel his fucking flying tackle hug had turned them into, and sat up. “I...no...”

“Fuck!” Michael half-shouted, doing his part to disentangle them. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed until just now how cold the ground was, so he started pulling himself to his feet. “...Fuck…” he groaned, taking stock of himself to make sure, after all he’d been through, Gavin’s affection hadn’t been the thing to break him. The first thing he noticed was that he fucking stank. Despite the cold he’d somehow managed to sweat through at least one layer. Probably came with fighting a giant ice bear. “Gav...I need...” he laughed a bit. “I need a fucking bath.” then he stopped. There was a whole crowd of people gathered by the river. Gavin had been watching them. “What...what's going on over there?”

“I'm not sure exactly.” Gavin answered “Looks like a couple bodies are being pulled out of the river.”

“A couple?” Michael echoed. 

“Yeah. One of 'em looks like some kind of big, white animal.” Gavin reported, then more solemnly “The other's human.” The words rushed past Michael’s head like so much air. He felt like he’d been kicked square in the chest. Maybe it’d been stupid but somewhere deep inside, Michael had hoped Marksian had somehow survived. He’d just been knocked into a river afterall. Who knew how tough an old sorcerer veteran really was? Gavin interupted his thoughts sounding suddenly breathless “...I...Michael I was honestly terrified.”

“I'm here.” Michael reassured reflexively, on autopilot but understanding Gavin’s fear. “I'm alive.” he paused, the lump in his throat was back, then added “...and if that human is who I think he is. It's thanks to him.” Gavin startled, then stood, offering Michael a hand. Michael took the hand and stood, barley using its support. He squeezed Gavin's hand briefly before walking ahead. “I'm gonna find out.”

Who else could it be? A human corpse fished out of the same river at the same time as the Ice Bear. Michael hadn’t really hoped, had he? Hadn’t imagined Marksian had survived that. Of course it would be both of their bodies. Gavin was at Michael’s shoulder as they walked together to get a closer look.

Michael could tell at a glance it was Marksian and he spun to face away. “Yep.” he said, voice scratching more than he might have liked “That’s him.” 

A young woman approached. Bright red hair, pretty. She asked “Do you know him?” 

“Marksian.” Michael supplied. “He’s…” he hesitated, the description of the old man as a drunk old wizard who’d helped him. Saved him. The description froze on his tongue and he decided in an instant Marksian deserved better. “He’s from Kelwhisper. A sorcerer and a War Veteran.” Michael hesitated “I didn’t know him long but he saved my life.” 

Gavin moved closer in behind him and Michael turned toward him reassuringly. Michael saw the woman take in their body language. Something to her went sharp when she asked “You must be Michael.” 

“Gavin must have mentioned me.” Michael shifted toward her and offered his hand. 

She shook it. “Non-stop.” 

“Becca…” Gavin complained, while Michael laughed. 

“I’m not surprised. He…” the memory of Gavin on the floor, mouth moving clearly forming his name but no sound crashed into Michael like a freight train and he hesitated too long a moment before “We...didn’t part under the best terms.” 

“I see.” the woman, Becca, responded. “I’m Guardian Sister Rebeckah Narlgion.” 

“Nice to meet you.”

“I wish it was under better circumstances.” She paused then “Come. Gavin is staying with us as an initiate of Jamoc, you are welcome to do the same.” 

“Thank you.” Michael answered, despite not being sure what she was talking about. She was sweet, like the girl at the inn. Except thinner and somehow more worldly seeming. Something about her eyes. “I don’t suppose I could get a bath tonight?” 

She eyed him a moment then teased “The Guardian Mother may insist.” 

Michael tried to smile. The effort fell flat. “Yeah.” he answered, lamely. “I fucking stink.” It occurred to him an instant later that maybe swearing around a...Guardian Sister, whatever that was, wasn’t a good idea. Like swearing in front of a nun. 

She took it in stride, smiling warmly and greeting “Come inside. Both of you.” She ushered them to the building and inside, through what looked to be some sort of sanctuary and into some sort of dorm looking kind of hallway. Gavin followed close as well. “Are you alright?” she asked as they got closer to their destination. 

“Do you mean him or me?” Gavin asked and Michael’s stride stuttered as he turned slightly to look at his friend, questioning why she’d be talking to him. 

She was talking to Gavin. “Sister Helen told me about your brush with magic.” Michael just stared at Gavin, waiting for an explanation. “She said a simple heating spell knocked you unconscious.” 

“I guess I’m just not built to do magic.” Gavin tried to laugh. “I’m fine though. At least I think I am. I don’t feel any ill effects, just drained.” he sounded awkward. 

“That’s normal for a beginner.” Becca responded. “Especially one of your age. Most people learn their first spells as a child.” 

Well that didn’t add up. If everyone knew magic from childhood, how come Marksian got so much shit for being a sorcerer? Michael was just starting to find the words to ask when they got to their destination, a mostly empty room with a fairly large metal tub inside. The tub was round, about three feet around by three feet deep. When she touched it and spoke a strange-sounding phrase, it began to fill with water from nowhere. “So wait.” he had to ask “Everyone knows magic? Because that old man out there got shit on for being a sorcerer.” 

“Being a sorcerer is different to knowing magic.” Becca answered without hesitation. “It’s the difference between a skill and a talent. Sorcerers are often magically inclined from birth, they can do silent spells, bend reality to their will. The rest of us go through, sometimes years, of education to learn a single field of magic.” she paused then “you really must be from far away.” 

Michael looked at Gavin, who shrugged. “You already knew that much.”

The tub finished filling, and Becca pulled away from it. “I’ll leave you to it. There’s a towel and a robe in that closet.” she said, Then she turned to leave. Gavin hesitated, then followed her out of the room. Leaving Michael alone with his thoughts. Not what he wanted at the moment. 

It felt good to strip down in a warm building. To get out of the moth eaten furs he’d stolen and the undershirt he’d slept in. The warm water felt even better, not quite as hot as his aching body would like. Just warm enough to begin to thaw him from being out in the freezing cold. He tried to just enjoy, to not think. To focus instead on using the soap he found to scrub clean. Among the several thoughts he couldn’t shake, Michael settled on the least painful.

Gavin had been safe this whole fucking time. 

Michael had spent upwards of two days worrying about him, and of all places Gavin had been safe at some kind of church. It was as unfair as it was a relief. He’d almost gotten killed at least twice and Gavin was fine. It was everything he could possibly have asked for from this fucked up situation. So why the hell was it pissing him off so much? 

Maybe because nobody fucking died for Gavin. 

Maybe that was a line of thought he wasn’t going down. That way was guilt and crippling grief for a man he’d literally only met that morning. 

What happened to least painful thought? 

Maybe he was frustrated because he could sense that somehow in less than 48 hours Gavin had developed history with that Becca chick, and he was offended on Meg’s behalf. 

Maybe he just wanted to go home. 

Michael bathed faster, scrubbed clean, then stood up and walked over to the closet he’d been pointed at. He dried quickly and dressed in the pullover robe before walking to the door. 

“You know I haven’t gotten a bath yet.” Gavin, right outside the door, commented. Not a complaint as far as Michael could tell. Just an observation. 

“You also didn’t almost die.” Michael snapped. He turned back into the room and dug through his old clothes for his sword, and buckled the belt over the robes as he spoke. “You’ve been safe this whole time while I’ve been worried fucking sick about you. You always fucking do this shit.” 

Gavin startled at Michael’s continued aggression. “You keep saying that.” he pressed. “Did you really? Almost die, I mean. How close was it?” 

Michael answered with a harsh retelling of his arrival in this world. Some requisite responses from Gavin as they headed out the door, shocked disbelief and disgust. “So that’s what happened to your hair!” and even some awe that he’d managed to kill whatever that thing was. Then “...but what did the man in the river have to do with that?” 

“He didn’t.” Michael answered. “That was the second time I almost died. Apparently you throw on some moth eaten furs and carry a sword and everyone thinks you’re an adventurer. I was paid to kill the Ice Bear.” 

“And you agreed? Michael…”

It was about this point that Michael realized they were walking somewhere. He didn’t ask yet, instead trusting Gavin and following him. “It wouldn’t have been that hard if fucking Sean hadn’t betrayed me.” 

“Sean?” Gavin echoed, then, scolding “Michael!” Gavin was glaring at him. “Betrayed or not, that thing looked huge,even from a distance! You’re not trained with that thing!” he gestured at Michael’s sword, which Michael picked up. “Why’d you do that?” 

“I needed the money.” Michael tried to excuse, tone defensive. It wasn’t strictly speaking true. 

“For what?” Gavin demanded. 

“To find you!” Michael shouted. Gavin recoiled, and Michael took a breath and rephrased. “To...have basic human necessities while I was looking for you. Food. Shelter. Maybe the trust of some extra pairs of eyes.” 

“So you put your life on the line.” ‘Gavin seemed upset by this, and honestly Michael couldn’t blame him. Maybe as recently as yesterday he’d have said Gavin was being a baby. Today though, Michael understood. 

“I did what I had to.” he tried to dismiss. The amount he didn’t want to talk about this…

“But I was fine!” ...and there was the reason why. 

“And believe it or not that pisses me off.” Gavin fell silent, looking wounded. “Don’t...get me wrong, I’m glad. Gavin. I don’t’ know what I would have done if something had happened to you.” Probably move on, look for Geoff and Ryan. Gone through the motions like some sort of… “fuck...just...I was out there fighting and you were in here...learning about god or some shit.” 

“I passed out trying to do magic.” Gavin offered, as if he hoped that would help. 

It did help, the heat went out of Michael and he laughed a little. “So I’m jealous and you’re an idiot.” 

“You saw Becca do it!” Gavin protested. “They’re all such...naturals. I thought...different world, this should be easy. Then I woke up by the fireplace.” 

Michael rolled his eyes, not wanting to acknowledge Gavin’s point. He didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he secured his sword at his waist and reported “Marksian spelled it for me.” 

“Is that how he saved your life?” 

Michael tried not to bristle. It was an innocent question, and honestly… “among other things.” was a good enough answer. Gavin’s look said it wasn’t, so Michael had to explain “That’s where Sean betraying me came in.” he considered a moment, then “believe it or not I had it down, dying. Like, half luck half spelled sword but I did it. Then this asshole comes along and provokes the fucking thing while it’s basically laying on top of me. I’m convinced he was trying to kill me.”

“Why?” Gavin asked “Why would he try to kill you?”

“I dunno, to get out of paying me? He’d been pissy with me for hours for no reason.” Michael neglected mentioning he was the reason Sean had the gold to pay him in the first place. It weakened his argument about needing money. “Anyway, Marksian comes along, throws a couple fireballs and gets taken out by the ice bear.” he sighed heavily “I don’t know, this just sucks. He basically sacrificed himself to save me. What kind of bullshit is that?”

Gavin nodded in silent understanding, and Michael felt better recognizing that to some degree he understood. After a moment he said “It’s like how I don’t like that you risked your life to find me.” 

“Yeah, except you wouldn’t be dead if I hadn’t.” They arrived at a bedroom full of bunk beds. An empty room that looked like it was meant to host dozens. “Is it just us?” Michael asked. 

Gavin nodded. “Last time I was alone.” he commented, finding a particular bed and stretching out on it. Michael took off his sword belt and climbed to the top bunk beside Gavin’s bottom one and looked down at him. Silence fell. Awkward silence, packed with too much. Their friendship hadn’t been built to withstand this kind of life or death intensity. Yet here they were. “It’s because we’re initiates of Irlock. She’s the goddess of Cooperation. Most of the other initiates are here for Jamoc. They’re warriors.” 

Gavin explained what he’d come to understand about the gods. Rossstew, Jamoc, Irlock. Michael listened as Gavin talked, subjects branching to his experiences here. The weirdness that was Becca thinking they were a couple. Eventually the conversation drifted to a natural close. Once Michael rolled over it took almost no time to fall asleep. One moment he was closing his eyes, and the next an obnoxious bugle was sounding and there was knocking on the door. 

Gavin got up like he’d been here forever, Michael needed an extra few minutes. 

Eventually they were both shuffled off to a breakfast of buckwheat pancakes and pear preserves, just like the kind from the tavern. Michael shoveled down more than his share, completely focused on getting a meal in where he could. Eventually, his focus was interrupted by overhearing “...making a coat for us.”

“Such a large bear you’d think would make more than one coat.” 

“Just the one. Guardian Father Dralath wants us to compete for it.” 

Michael felt sick. They were talking about skinning the ice bear. The idea alone didn’t bother him as much as it should, but the idea of someone else wearing that pure white fur made his guts turn with jealousy. “What, uh, what kind of competition?” he interjected. Only to be laughed at. 

“Swordplay, of course.” one young man answered over enthusiastically. 

“When?” Michael pushed.

“Michael…” Gavin warned

“Today, on the practice field.” 

“I’m in.” Michael said without thought. 

They laughed again, and Michael thought he was being mocked and prepared to react defensively. Instead he was clapped hard on the shoulder and invited “welcome to the ranks of Irlock.” 

Cheers went up around the table, and Michael was a bit thrown. That hadn’t been what he meant at all...but he supposed if the challenge was only open to Initiates of Irlock...he’d have to make the switch. Gavin was glaring at him, and Michael exaggerated rolling his eyes. They didn’t get the chance to argue about it before Gavin was called away, and he departed with an expression that promised a conversation about this. Michael didn’t care though. 

The bear deserved to be worn by someone who’d respected it. Someone who had earned the right. Maybe it was a dumb thing to be concerned with, and a white fur coat was far from his style anyway. He’d killed the damn bear, he deserved the reward. Even if he had to fight for it. 

Michael got swept along with the other initiates out onto a practice yard. His hand rested defensively on the hilt of his sword until everyone grabbed wooden practice staves. “So when’s the competition?” he asked someone nearby as he grabbed his own staff along with the rest of the crowd. 

“Who knows?” was the answer. 

“Not before evening.” someone else suggested “Maybe as late as tomorrow night.”

So Michael participated in training. Called strikes and blocks with the staves and later with wooden slat swords. Michael got no shortage of pointers. From partners in the pattern to the instructor, a heavier man on the shorter side that reminded Michael of no one so much as Professor Port, complete with the moustache, and who turned out to be the Guardian Father Dralath. Everyone had suggestions for him. Hand spacing, stance, Michael listened and did his best to learn. 

By lunchtime he was well beyond sore. So sore, in fact, that whenever he moved abruptly he almost winced. He was approaching the longest he’d gone without painkillers, and under the most physical duress he’d been in years.If not ever. It didn’t stop him from wolfing down the bread and cheese they served for lunch. Gavin sat with him and, of course, asked in a conspiratorial voice “You’re not really going to fight in a competition are you?”

“I actually am.” Michael answered seriously. At Gavin’s look he demanded “What’s your problem? It’s not like the contest is gonna be a fight to the death. Worst case scenario, I lose, I look like an idiot and I’m pissed off for a day or two.” 

Gavin still seemed unconvinced, to Michael’s irritation. They didn’t debate the matter farther, instead just eating in silence before Gavin got rushed back out to wherever and Michael dragged his sorry ass out to continue training. 

“You don’t have to be the warrior.” Gavin commented over the gamey stew they served at dinner. 

Michael felt half dead from pushing himself the entire day, but demanded “What the fuck does that mean, Gavin?” 

“Just what I said.” Gavin answered. “This is real, Michael. I know it seems like a fairy tale, or a video game, but it’s not. Nobody expects you to be a warrior.” 

“Whatever put me here expected me to be a warrior.” Michael snapped. “I’ve been fighting since I got here, and now I have the chance to pick up some real training?” 

“So it’s not about the coat?” 

Michael bristled. “What if it is? Damnit, Gavin, I killed that fucking bear. I did. Pretty much by myself with somebody out there trying to kill me. I fucking deserve that coat.” 

Gavin still seemed concerned, but he went quiet. Michael did the same, quietly furious. Who did Gavin think he was, reminding him that this was real? Like he didn’t know that. Like he couldn’t feel every muscle in his body protesting his decision every second of the day. Like he hadn’t been fighting to survive this from the get go. Like he wasn’t grieving a complete stranger who had died for him! 

Fucking Gavin.


	7. The Seer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff and the party visit a seer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what's not abandoned?! This fic!

Geoff was fast coming to the conclusion that everything in Wheyla was terrifying. He didn’t think that Lovecraftian would be a terribly inaccurate word for the thing he was currently defying all sense of self preservation and running toward. Glass jar in hand. Not for the first time, Geoff wished he had a better throwing arm. Once he was close enough, he let the jar fly. It exploded with a hiss on rubbery skin and Geoff suddenly found himself under the scrutiny of one of its cloudy eyes. 

An instant later he was in agony. Or at least it felt like there’d been nothing in between. It took him several moments of trying to breathe to process he’d been snatched up by a tentacle and thrown into a nearby tree. No time to properly catch his breath, the monster was scuttling toward him. 

As Geoff scurried backwards toward the wagon, Scorpio came down on the monster. Dropping sword first from another nearby tree. Inhuman shrieks of pain filled the air as she pivoted on her blade and drove the heel of her boot hard into its eye. 

Geoff didn’t see the rest of what happened, he was too busy turning and running for the wagon. 

About an hour later, it had turned out that Ysilpods, named for the god of the ocean Ysillu, were good to eat. Or at least their tentacles were. Apparently Alen had severed one before Vin had put the thing out of its misery. Then they’d skinned and chopped it up and skewered the pieces to cook over a campfire. 

“I’ve never seen a Ysilpod this far north.” Winter commented between mouthfuls. 

“What happened to it?” Geoff asked, also between bites. The meat was strange, about the texture of imitation crabmeat but with a stronger fish flavor. “I mean, I know you killed it but. How come everything but the tentacle disappeared?”

“Most monsters do that.” Alen answered. “On death they simply vanish from this world. Their bodies return to Mu, perhaps because they don’t have souls.” 

“Or because they are souls.” Joy added. “Spirits of the departed made manifest.” 

“Whatever the reason.” Alen spoke as if interrupting. The way one would interrupt a conversation about religion at a dinner table with people of incompatible beliefs. “Very few monsters forms persist past death.” 

“Ersatz takes them.” Scorpio spoke lowly, that same scratch to her voice. 

“Scorpio.” Alen warned “Be careful invoking that name.” 

“Ersatz, Ersatz, Ersatz!” Scorpio chanted in defiance, hissing the word through her teeth.   
Everyone groaned, “C’mon, Scorpio…” protested Joy. 

Alen just glared at her and, after a moment, threw his skewer down and stormed off back into the wagon. 

Winter sighed heavily. “See? You had to go and provoke him…” 

“As if our luck isn’t bad enough.” Joy complained “Now you go and invoke the god of the unnatural.” he sighed and sounded resigned when he added “Well, I’m not getting any sleep tonight.” 

“You’ll sleep.” Winter insisted. 

“I’m sorry I asked.” Geoff mumbled, returning to his food. It didn’t quite taste the same now that he had it in his head it was soul made manifest. He’d been traveling with these people a little over a day now. Joy was yet to say one way or the other if he’d still get those three questions. Just in case, Geoff had spent whatever time they weren’t fighting monsters trying to come up with his questions. 

So far all he could think of was to ask how to find Gavin, Michael, and Ryan. Three friends, three questions. He’d have come up with something better, but a lot of his thinking time was interrupted by Winter teaching him how to make various potions and poisons with the slime gel they’d collected. Apparently it was a potent ingredient. All valuable information, but still. 

“I’ll take first watch.” Joy offered, continuing his argument against sleeping from the sound of it. 

Winter glared at him and then said “Second Watch.” at first Geoff thought she was bargaining, a strange choice. Then he realized she’d volunteered for it. 

“Third.” said Scorpio. 

Winter nodded her head, then turned back to Joy. “So you’ll sleep starting with second shift.” 

Joy smiled, the smile of someone trying to get away with something. “We’ll see about that.” 

Winter leaned in and kissed him. Geoff stood up “I think I’m gonna get some sleep.” 

Vin waved to him, a silent goodnight. Scorpio nodded. Joy and Winter pulled apart and each bid him goodnight as well. Geoff climbed into the back of the wagon and into the bedroll they’d allowed him. 

Alen sat up so suddenly as to startle him. Geoff swore and jumped about a foot back. “Don’t DO that!” he scolded. 

“I just sat up.” the old man protested, and Geoff sighed, feeling ridiculous. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

Geoff climbed into his bedroll but stayed sitting up. “What about?” 

“Your thoughts on the gods.” Alen explained. “You may have noticed I’m the only spiritual man in present company. It comes from my days of training in Natton.” 

“Alen.” Geoff began, “I hate to disappoint you but...I’m still getting use to monsters exist, nevermind spiritual ramifications of where they’re from or where they go when you kill them. I...I completely understand that you’re probably hungry to talk theology but, I’m just not your guy, okay?” 

Alen hesitated, then nodded. “Goodnight then, Geoff.” and laid back down. Geoff followed suit. It wasn’t comfortable. The bedroll was thin and his back and sides still hurt from impacting that tree. It wasn’t such bad pain he thought anything was broken, just intense discomfort. 

Others came to bed before Geoff finally drifted off to sleep. 

He had a dream. A mundane, office dream. A dream about being at work and doing work things with his work friends. It was interrupted by the attack of a giant snake, abruptly turning the whole thing into a painful nightmare. 

He woke in the dark and couldn’t get back to sleep. Instead just laying there. Joy was asleep by then, he was surrounded on all sides by either people or wagon walls. Aside from the involuntary trembling until the worst of the nightmare passed. Winter came back and whispered “Scorpio.” and Geoff sat up. 

“Let her sleep.” he said, then winced from the ache that had decided to spread through his chest. “I’ll take third watch.” 

“Are you sure?” Winter asked. “You took a pretty hard hit tonight.” 

“I’m fine.” Geoff dismissed. “I probably undid months of progress on my spine, that’s all.” at her concerned expression he dismissed “really, I’m fine. And I can’t sleep anyway so we may as well let the others.” 

“Alright.” Winter replied uneasily. “But you have to explain this was your idea to Scorpio in the morning.” 

“Finally trust her not to kill me?” 

“No.”   
It was nice how easily Geoff had fallen into the banter. Something comfortable, if not entirely familiar. A sharper edge than he liked. He climbed out of the wagon and breathed in the chilly night air. Expanding his lungs to full and doing his best to control his trembling. 

That giant snake had really set him off. Over twenty four hours ago and he still felt fucked up every time he thought about it. Literal worst nightmare, and here he was up keeping watch in case another one attacked. Thank goodness everyone slept in the wagon because he wasn’t sure he could wake them up before taking off if something like that attacked again. Honestly he just wanted to think about anything but a snake. 

It was harder than it seemed. 

Here’s what he could think about, finding Gavin and Michael. He just hoped they’d found people half as helpful as this adventuring party. The amount of trouble the lads could get into in a world like this was almost as scary as the idea of that fucking giant snake. Okay, so not even close, but the responsible part of him wanted to say it was just as scary. 

Regardless, he was scared. It’d become his default state ever since Gavin’s scream. He wondered if Ryan had let him go to Gavin if they’d have appeared in this world together somewhere. He wondered if he’d left with Ryan if they’d never have been brought here. He wondered if it wasn’t just a hallucination on his part. He’d finally cracked and was having some sort of bizarre coma dream. The problem was almost nothing was familiar about this. Even if the setting did remind him a little of D&D. You’d think a coma dream would at least be set in the world from one of his old campaigns or something. 

On one hand, it was easier for Geoff to pretend none of this was real, On the other...it was just too real to not treat that way. The pain across his back was one such example. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Scorpio climbing out of the wagon and walking over to him. She sat down across from him and looked at him, expression telling all. She didn’t trust him. Probably was surprised Winter did. Honestly Geoff was a little bit surprised Winter trusted him enough to keep watch so quickly after meeting. Especially with what a clueless little piece of shit he’d been. Insisting he was from somewhere that as far as they knew didn’t exist. In fact, meeting her gaze for longer than a moment, Geoff became completely sure that Scorpio thought he was crazy. 

They both stayed up, in what was the awkwardest silence Geoff had experienced in recent memory, if not ever. It was an enormous relief when the others began waking up and their journey resumed. 

The seer’s house, it turned out, was the cutest cottage built next to a small stream. They pulled up the wagon and everyone got out and began going through packs. 

“Here.” Joy spoke, offering Geoff something. He extended his hand to take it, and found a small bone-carved button. “Your three questions.” 

“Huh?”

“Delya only takes patrons who have one of her buttons.” 

That opened up a whole new avenue of questioning that Geoff just wasn’t in the mood for. Especially once the door opened and a sweet-sounding voice called out “one at a time please.” 

Winter rushed forward and presented a similar button to the seer, and was ushered inside. Geoff didn’t even get a good look at the lady, just that she was wearing a rough brown dress. Geoff couldn’t help but wonder about the buttons. He kept his mouth shut though, already feeling too much like an idiot to question things like why she used buttons or how she even knew they were hers. Then again,she supposedly knew everything. 

Winter emerged after several moments looking somehow both somber and overjoyed. Scorpio approached her questioningly. “It’s in this forest. Near Kelwhisper.” she announced dramatically. 

“What is?” 

“The Treasure of Guardian Father Salmone.” Winter gushed. Somehow, Geoff wasn’t surprised her questions had been about treasure. 

Alen went next, and came back seeming self-satisfied but with nothing to share. Then Vin, who announced that a meeting of the council of lords was scheduled in the capital city in the coming weeks. There was some celebration as Scorpio slipped off to take her turn. Apparently this was the opportunity to win a bid to escort a Lord. The celebration died down when they realized if they were treasure hunting near Kelwhisper most likely the only bid they could put down was to escort Lord Ian. 

Scorpio came back from the seer in tears, and Winter rushed her off into the back of the wagon, leaving everyone else confused. “I’ve never seen her cry.” confided Joy. 

At last it was Geoff’s turn. The seer wore a scarf over her head, tassels dangling in her face, separated like curtains or long bangs, tamed back with a touch. He offered her the button and she escorted him inside without taking it.

“So if you know everything…” Geoff started

“Ah.” Delya interrupted “Do not finish that question. Or you will have used one of your three.” 

Geoff quelled his questions. About her, about this world, about magic. He swallowed hard, and asked a much simpler question. “Where’s Gavin?” 

“With Michael.” the answer came quickly enough to startle Geoff. “I felt their reunion nearly as powerfully as I did the crack in the multiverse that brought you all here.” 

“Crack…?” Geoff stopped mid thought at her hard look. Her dark eyes were sharp and deep and Geoff took the look as the warning it was. Do not waste questions. She’d even given him a free answer. They’d fallen through a crack in the multiverse. He hadn’t asked that. 

“They’re together at the temple of Rosstew, at the headwaters of Maya River.” she paused and then added “Michael seeks to prove himself a champion, much to Gavin’s displeasure.” 

Once Geoff digested what she was saying he found himself mumbling “Mine too.” before confirming “Second Question.” 

She stared at him, silently, without response. She didn’t correct him, so that had obviously only been the one question. Quite an answer. He was looking forward to another answer like that, with good news and quite a bit of detail when he asked “Where’s Ryan?” 

“In Wheyla Palace.” was the simple answer. 

Geoff waited for more, almost asked if that was it. He tripped over a half word instead, realizing he still had a third question he had nothing else to do with. And with how fast she’d turned on her heal from helpful to three word answers. Nothing about Ryan’s condition, no reassurance. It sat hard in his gut and he felt the question of if his friend was alright or not on the tip of his tongue. 

But it was fortunate Michael and Gavin were in the same place, and he couldn’t waste that good fortune on a simple yes or no. So instead he took a long breath, and asked “How do we, my friends and I, how do we get home? Back to our world.” 

Geoff was startled by the childlike delight that crossed her face.

\---

Geoff ran with Winter around the back of the flame slime. The arcing path went through the woods off path and he was honestly surprised he didn’t trip over a root or something. It was a good thing, as he was carrying empty glass bottles to use for gathering potions ingredients. 

They came out behind the monster that was currently blowing a short jet of flame at Scorpio, who was rolling out of the way and coming up close to stab.   
“Three.” Winter readied her weapon as she stage whispered to him. “Two.” She continued as Geoff readied the short sword they’d provided him with. “One.” they pounced, slashing at its back in near perfect unison as Alen brought an ice enchantment down on it that sent a ripple of blue through the angry red gelatinous flesh. 

It made a garbled sound, a death cry that sounded more like a warble than anything before melting into a pile of so much red goo. He and Winter were ready with the glass jars, scooping up as much go as they could before it disappeared, seeming to sink into the ground. 

Once it was gone, Geoff breathed a sigh of relief, and shared a high-five with Winter. 

They were back on the road in less than ten minutes. Vin driving as usual, and Geoff felt included in the chatter about this latest monster, despite his only contribution being to talk about how many jars he’d filled. It was like he’d joined the group. 

“So, who sleeps outside the wagon once we pick up Geoff’s friends?” Joy asked brightly. 

Winter groaned “I forgot we don’t have room for them.” she had already promised to pick up Michael and Gavin and take them to Kelwhisper to bid on a job as Lord Ian’s escort party to the Capital City. Apparently Escort Gigs paid well. 

“I will sleep on the ground.” Alen offered

Joy snorted “No offence, old man, but you’re not in any shape to be sleeping on the ground.” Winter nodded in agreement. 

“Geoff and I.” Scorpio interjected, and Geoff startled at being voluntold like that. It made sense though, they were his friends, 

“Sure I’ll sleep outside.” Geoff agreed. “No problem.” 

“Scorpio…” Winter started warningly.

Scorpio fixed her with some sort of look. Honestly they’d always had this weird silent communication thing going, but now it was even more. Ever since Winter had comforted Scorpio after the visit to the seer. Apparently the look wasn’t enough because Scorpio spoke again. “He’s safe with me.” 

Winter seemed to relax at the promise and nodded. “Alright. Geoff’s friends sleep in the wagon with Joy and I, and Alen, minus whoever’s on watch, Vin you stay up front, and Scorpio and Geoff will sleep on the ground.” 

“They honestly might not want to sleep in a packed wagon.” Geoff commented. It had only been a few days but sleeping squished together with a bunch of strangers had as much as the battles taken them from strangers to, if not friends, much closer acquaintances then he might have liked. He hadn’t wanted to know how the old man moved in his sleep or that Winter snored. He knew all of that and more though. From just a few nights in extraordinarily close quarters. 

“We’ll revisit the plan if they feel like sleeping outside.” Winter answered. 

Geoff wondered about them. How they’d react to seeing him. Would they be glad? Relieved he was alright? Had they even spared him a second thought, since they had no reason to think he was trapped here with them. Would they be surprised? Displeased? And how would they react to what they would have to do to get home? Traveling with Winter’s party would be good training. 

As Geoff stressed about his friends, the conversation took another turn and there was laughter. Geoff couldn’t help but smile. He couldn’t believe how quickly he’d settled into this reality, straight out of an RPG of some kind. Yet here he was, surrounded by people he would seriously consider calling friends, who were helping him on a personal quest to, as it were, gather his party. 

“Alright.” Winter interrupted Geoff’s thoughts and the conversation as a whole. “Time to teach Geoff what kind of potions can be made with red slime.”

Apparently while blue slime remnant was best for healing and the like, the red kind was even better for damage and poison. Geoff was an eager student, committing as much of what she told him to memory as possible.He practiced making various potions with Winter while Alen napped and Scorpio went to the front with Vin. It was kind of fun. More fun then he’d expected to have doing things like this. 

\----

It was meeting the Maya river that oriented Geoff that they’d been traveling south all this time. Well, Southeast, Winter was quick to correct. Now they were headed West, toward Kelwhisper by way of the temple of Rosstew. 

“It’s between the headwaters of Maya River, and the mouth of Zestrich River, right on top of the underground stream.” Vin explained, and Geoff was able to pinpoint where they were going on the map. 

Monsters were a bit less frequent this close to the river. A massive, electric fish tried to pick a fight with them but it swam away after Winter poisoned it. On the far side of the river they passed farms. Geoff initially mistook the first Buffalo he saw for a monster. It was enormous, even from the opposite side of the wide river. Whole herds were kept, Vin explained, for ploughing work, milk and meat. Cows it turned out were considered a luxury animal, used only in the Capitol for their more tender meat. Geoff allowed himself a moment to be amused that Ryan of all people would be surrounded by cows and moved on. 

They had some distance to go along the river and the first night camping Geoff couldn’t sleep. The ambient sound of the rushing river was keeping him up. That and worry. Mostly worry. Morning came and Geoff rose with the others, pretending he wasn’t completely exhausted. Pretty much everyone saw right through it. Scorpio either didn’t notice or didn’t care, everyone else told him it was fine to sleep in the back of the wagon while it was moving, if he could. 

Geoff slept just enough to have another anxiety dream about giant snakes in the workplace. 

Despite his exhaustion, Geoff volunteered for first watch the second night of camping along the river. Waking Scorpio up to take over for him at second watch felt a little like taking his life into his hands but she woke gently enough. She studied him as she crawled out of the wagon and hopped to the ground. Her expression was intense, but unreadable. It was unnerving enough whatever it was. 

Geoff actually slept that night. Maybe he’d grown use to the river, or maybe it was just exhaustion, or maybe he’d decided to stop worrying. He knew where all his friends were, they were safe, and they had a path to get home. It’d be a long, hard path, but they had one. Sure there was constant nagging worry for everyone’s safety, even his new friends. He did consider them friends by now. Of course, that worry was just a sort of background radiation rather than the heart pounding anxiety of the night before. 

The next day they arrived at the headwaters and had to cross about a mile of farmland before they got to the building. The far side had snow from the nearby mountain almost all the way to the front door. As they pulled up the wagon, the door opened. A slight man appeared in the doorway and spoke in a dull monotone. “Good Day, Travelers. Are you guests of Rossstew and their children?” 

“We’re looking for a few guests.” Winter said. “What are their names again?” 

“Michael and Gavin.” Geoff supplied. 

“Come in, come in.” the man intoned dully. “Michael is participating in the tournament of Irlock.” 

“Michael is WHAT?” Geoff demanded, climbing out of the wagon to approach the door. 

“Please, allow me to guide you to a place to shelter your horses during your visit.” 

“I wasn’t planning to visit. Just pick up Gavin and Michael.” Winter said, staying on the wagon. 

“You may wait here, but Michael is…” 

“What’s the tournament of Irlock?” Geoff demanded again. 

“If you allow me. I’ll explain all in time.” the tiny man said, still flat in tone. 

“Temples of more aggressive gods keep armies.” Alen explained in the moment. “To keep their skills sharp, when a justifiable reward comes along, the army holds a tournament in the honor of their god, and the prize goes to the winner.”

“Michael is participating in a tournament with an army?” Geoff nearly screeched. “What the fuck does he think he’s doing?” 

\---

‘Very well’ it turned out was what Michael was doing. He defeated three opponents in a row with seemingly minimal effort, disarming them readily and sending them to the ground. Geoff watched in awe from the stands, barely able to believe this was his Michael. Michael didn’t have that kind of grace. 

Of course, Geoff had been fighting monsters for the last several days, and who’d believe he had that in him? Michael probably had a similar story, he’d most likely been training with this army since he got here. Still. 

Geoff spotted Gavin halfway through Michael’s second fight. Michael had pulled a particularly good move and Geoff heard the unmistakable voice cheer “That’s my boi!” and he stood to begin looking for it. 

Gavin wasn’t all that hard to spot, and Geoff made his way over to him. Calling out “Gavin!” a couple of times over the roar of the crowd as Michael won another match. 

“Geoff?” Gavin was confused at first, then jumped up in excitement “Geoff!” and leapt to his feet as Geoff reached him, grabbing him in a tight embrace that Geoff couldn’t help but return. Gavin made room so they could sit together. “You’ll have to tell me everything when Michael’s finished with his matches His name starts with an M, so he’s halfway down the list and he has to take on everyone with names after his if he wants to win.” 

“I can’t believe he’s doing this!” 

“Me either. He’s really changed since we came here. Gotten tougher.” They cheered as Michael won again. He seemed completely focused, like the crowd wasn’t even there. Not a trace of the entertainer they both knew and loved. Geoff was afraid to cheer too much for fear of ruining his concentration. 

The next challenger was well on twice Michael’s size. Geoff’s stomach flipped. Michael barley seemed to notice the size difference, or at least he didn’t react the way Geoff would have expected him to. Instead he just readied up and took in his opponent unflinchingly. Geoff was impressed and also terrified. “He uh, people aren’t getting hurt in this are they? I mean, those are real swords.”

Gavin shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like it so far, but like you said…” he sounded as worried as Geoff felt. 

The fight began.


End file.
